


The Long Road Home

by solitariusvirtus, tenten_d



Series: The Long Road Home [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Friends to Lovers, Middle Ages, Pseudo-Incest, fostering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 33
Words: 107,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenten_d/pseuds/tenten_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Witch says that the only cure is to find the Blue Rose of the North and raise her in the shadow of the dragons. Only if they do so will the Queen's womb carry. If not, she is doomed to lose all her babes as she has lost her Princess.</p><p>Rhaella Targaryen takes matters in her own hands and has the sole daughter of House Stark brought into the folds of her own family, to raise along with whatever children the Seven see fit to give her. But as her own daughter has died and she births the King but sons, Lyanna Stark becomes more than a simple charm. When the Blue Rose starts blooming she is given to the eldest Prince, Lord of Dragonstone and heir to the throne.   </p><p>Yet matters are seldom that simple. The words of witches do not make a happy marriage, nor do they build a home. In times of turmoil and strife is it possible for love to prevail, or is chance too strong a foe?</p><p>AU! Lyanna is raised at court and is no less of a Stark despite her Targaryen upbringing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. Rhaella I

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse, nor explanation...
> 
> Enjoy.

She could hear him on the other side of the door, yelling at the old Maester, promising torture and bloodshed. She could hear every word and in her mind's eye she saw his face contorted in rage. He'd had gone hunting and left her on her own to endure another tragedy. Moisture gathered on her lashes. Somewhere close by servants were scurrying about, trying to avoid anything potentially life-threatening. Another yell mixed with imprecations followed. She shut her eyes and burrowed deeper in the warmth of her coverings, feeling her sorrow running down her cheeks. It hurt, the pain visceral, cutting a path through her.

A whimper drew forth from her lips. Rhaella Targaryen was cursed. She could feel it. She could feel the putrid stench of despair enveloping her. The rivers of her tears grew even stronger, salty water leaking down her porcelain skin. Never had there been a woman less happy than her, she was sure. Small sobs escaped her lips. She just wanted to close her eyes and never open them again. It should have been easy. But she could not do it, for the life of her she couldn't. Whenever her lashes pressed tightly together she would remember that tiny face, blue. Why had the skin been blue? It should not have happened. It should not. The gods were unfair. It should have been her they took, not her poor, innocent daughter. It was not fair. A mother shouldn't have to suffer thus. Had they no hearts? Had they no eyes? Rhaella's sobs grew louder. Did they not know that there she lived only for all these children that they took from her. It was odious, preposterous and cruel. It was cruel to promise life and give death. It was cruel to rob a mother of her delight in the last hour.

Her sweet Shaena was dead. Her poor, sweet babe. She hadn't even held her. How could a child leave like that, without ever knowing the loving touch of its mother? The maesters should have saved her. They should have done sometime other than crowd around her and wipe the sweat off her forehead. If they had, her Shaena might have yet lived. Rhaella's teeth clenched together in barely-suppressed rage. Her anger sparked, burned and consumed. It extended towards all and any who had been with her in those dark moments. And towards those who had been absent. Where had they been? Why hadn't they helped her? Her mind was running around in circles, grasping at straws, trying to make peace with something that her heart shunned.

Yet she could not dismiss the feeling of inadequacy that had taken over her. If only the Stranger would hear her prayers and the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Rhaella shifted, curling into herself, arms wrapped tightly in a hug. She felt so alone, devoid of power, dead on the inside. She wanted and wanted, but she did not know what. She wanted her Shaena back, but then she wanted her brother to comfort her. She wanted to hold her son, but she did not wish for him to see her thus.

The door opened. Rhaella did not respond as her name was called out. She did not even turn her head. Yet she could hear the sound of footsteps and her brother's familiar presence made itself known. "Rhaella." He was standing just behind her. "Sister."

"Where have you been?" came her voice, thin and weak, strained for pain. "Where have you been?" Something akin to anger coloured her words as twisted around to face her husband, her King, the man who had left her on her own. "You weren't here."

"I am here now," Aerys tries to shush her. He sat on the edge of her bed, upper half twisted her way. A gentleness shone in his eyes, one which Rhaella had not seen in some time. He patted her hair gently. "I cam as soon as I heard. I am sorry."

"She was our daughter, Aerys. And she's dead." As dead as their own father who has forced this upon them, as dead as the grandfather who refused to hear their pleas and stop the madness. She's dead. Shaena is gone. Out of their grasp.

Aerys gathered her in his arms, forcing her frame upright. "There will be other children, Rhaella." They were capable of producing living offspring. Rhaegar was proof of that. Their eldest son, her beautiful boy. "It shall be fine, sister. It shall. We need but time." Silence fell between them like a heavy curtain.

At a long last Rhaella spoke again. "The witch might know something." The feared witch, the same witch who had whispered in their father's ear about prophecies and promised princes and a reign of dragons to last a thousand years; a cursed creature that had crawled out of some swamp and saw fit to sway the mind of those willing to believe her words. That creature was her only hope, Rhaella thought bleakly, and if she had to give her the heart within her chest she would. Anything for the nightmare to stop.

At first, Aerys regarded her with a shocked gaze. "We shan't," he said, voice firm. "Her very words are poison, her breath an insult to you and me. I will not put my faith in her hands." But his sister knew that in such moments he was as vulnerable as she. If only she twisted the knife a but deeper.

"Brother, I beg of you. I shan't rest easy until I have the answers. If you can find it within yourself to take pity of me, a poor grieving mother, then let us see the witch. Mayhap she knows of a cure." But Aerys would not hear of it. He cursed and raged, leaving her side. Utterly hopeless were any of her attempts, for her brother did not wish to hear one more word. He left her where she sat, storming out the door.

In his wake was but torchlight and deathly silence. Pain flared in the Queen's breast. A cold shiver ran down her spine and her hand came up to rest on the smarting spot. A ghost must have stepped over her grave, she thought. Dour and quite without any power left, Rhaella fell back under the covers and prayed. She played her husband would understand and she asked the gods to help her in this. "You have taken from me what I love. 'Tis time to be kind now. Merciful Mother, be of aid to me." Her whispers were almost loud into the dark night, but not enough to attract attention.

The gods were strange rulers of their realm. They only granted some requests and even those in ways know only by them. Had the Queen expected a clear response to her supplication, she was to be disappointed for these beings of the ether did not change the King's mind.

If anything, Aerys had grown pensive throughput the night and the light of day did not seem to help his mood. Rhaella avoided speaking with him. When he was in such dark a mood, caution was her fondest ally. But she decided then and there that with or without him, she would see the witch and she would find the answers she desired.

It did not take long hours of preparation, nor did she have to search for the despicable creature. The witch had long since made her home at court and she had been waiting to be summoned. Or so she led Rhaella to believe when she came into her chambers.

"I have been waiting for you to summon me," the old woman spoke in her slightly throaty voice. "You are searching for a cure, are you not?" Rhaella merely nodded. "You wish to have children again." That had not been a question, so no answer was given.

The witch stepped closer and Rhaella forced herself to remain still as the woman took her hand. "But what is this? Look how pale you are." Her hand was lifted into the air. "The fire is too strong within you, child. It burns away your babes."

Horror painted the Queen's features. "What mean you, witch? I burn them I kill them?"

"Aye, your womb, the forge of souls within you, 'tis too hot a place – a desert for them." Beady eyes stared at her accusingly, the frail cries of babes ringing in her ears. Rhaella pulled away.

"You lie!" she accused the woman. "Cursed witch, you wish to pour poison in my ears. y brother was right–"

"Your Majesty, I do not lie. But I do know of a way to help. A balm." That made the Queen pause in her tirade. Interpreting the silence as a conformation of curiosity, the witch started speaking once more, "There is but one thing to be done, Your Majesty. You need ice to quell the fire within you, for ice burns strong as fire."

"Ice?" Rhaella questioned. The witch had gone mad, she though. Aerys had been right. "How would ice help me? And where would I find ice in summer?"

"Oh, 'tis not the frozen water I speak of," the old woman laughed, "nay, I talk of the old blood of the North. That is the line of ice, my lady. You need one such as yourself to lift the curse."

"So it is a curse," the Queen spoke to no one in particular. "Who would wish to curse me, witch?"

"I know not. The curse is old. Older than I, Your Majesty. I cannot fathom who has placed it upon your house. I can only give guidance in lifting it." The witch ceased speaking, waiting for the decision of the one who had summoned her.

For her own part, Rhaella could not help but think on what she'd heard. A curse. Ever since her son was born, her womb has refused to quicken and give healthy children. Rhaella had prayed to the Mother. She had Septons bless her. She had tried everything she could. Yet it would seem that only the old witch could aid her. And so she was to listen.

"What must I do?" Anything, she promised to herself, anything at all she would do. "Where am I to find one such as me?" And who could possibly be one such as her?

"There is, far in the North a beautiful sort of flower. 'Tis native to those lands. This blood is called a Winter Rose. Its colour is the most beautiful shade of blue any flower had ever been painted by the gods. She is the queen of her frozen lands. But Blue Rose I wish you to find has no thorns, not does she grow like vine on stone walls. Nay, this rose has two legs and two hands in its veins is the blood of kings as sure as the sun rises in the East." The explanation flowed quickly past her lips, leaving the Queen somewhat dazed.

Rhaella sat down, trying to gather her thoughts. "You mean to tell me that what I search for is in the North. A child, then. A noble child of the North. A member of House Stark." History names the Stark as King in the North before Aegon's conquest. If royal blood ran through any veins then it had to be through the veins of the Starks. And if the child was like her, then it must mean 'twas a daughter of House Stark that would be her salvation. "But how would I bring her here?"

"You are the Queen, Your Majesty. What doors are locked to you in such matters?" Indeed, 'twas so. And yet, she would need more than a crown to call a noble daughter out of her parents' home. If indeed, Lord Stark did have a daughter.

"I shall write. I shall send a raven." She stood to her feet, ecstatic, full of joy and relief. The curse was at an end. She could feel it, truly she could. Her salvation had arrived. Tears filled her eyes.

***

Aerys had gone, Rhaella knew not where. However, his absence did not bother her at all. In fact it gave her the needed opportunity to write to Lord Stark, inquiring after a daughter. The matter had been carefully thought over. The Queen had composed and ripped apart a thousand letters in her head. She had chosen words and words, not knowing which sounded better, which would plead her case in an appropriate manner.

The witch had merely watched her with her unsettling gaze. "Why write a letter so long for such small a request. Demand the child and the child shall be yours." But those words Rhaella did not trust.

"If someone demanded my son, you can be sure I would not simply give him to them. I wish Lord Stark to know that I mean his daughter no ill, but I need her." She could not bear to think of the child's mother though. As a mother herself, Rhaella knew what atrocity it would seem in the eyes of Lady Stark.

Though daughters were sometimes offered in other houses as cup-bearers or sometimes ladies-in-waiting, they were typically older than what she imagined Lord Stark's daughter was – if he did have a daughter, that was. Frustratingly enough, no one seemed to know if Rickard Stark did have a daughter. Everyone knew he had sons – two, three according to some, but no one ever mentioned a daughter. So it fell to the Queen to ask or make demands or handle the situation as she pleased.

But if the daughter did exist and Lord Stark accepted the Queen's terms, she swore in her letter that she would grant him whatever he wished of her, if only he asked. It was, of course, a dangerous offer. But Rhaella was convinced that if she gave her brother healthy children, he would be willing to bestow a gift upon her. And with that gift she would reward Lord Stark.

As for the daughter, the Queen would see to it that she receive the highest honour possible. For the person who had lifted her curse was worthy of a crown and may other riches besides. _I have a son, my lord,_ she'd written, her quill flowing easily on paper. What else could a father desire for his daughter? Aye, the Starks were an old house, with a strong name and vast lands. They were the most remote up in their northern lands and the Crown had not bothered with them. It was time to turn their head towards the North though and seek an alliance with them.

It had been attempted once, a long time ago. The feat had belonged to one of Rhaenyra's sons by her first husband, Laenor Velayrion, Rhaella could not recall his one the boy. But nothing had come of it. Perhaps the second time around the result would be more to the satisfaction of all involved. A Stark and a Targaryen, ice and fire – just like the song of old. How wonderful that would be.

"Mother!" The loud sound of her son's voice broke her out of her thoughts. Rhaella looked down towards the source. Rhaegar was looking up at her, holding a slim volume in his hand. "You said you would read it to me." He held the book towards her with all the grace of an eight year old.

With a small sigh, Rhaella took the volume. It was Valyrian poetry. Or at least what had survived of it through the writings of maesters and other poets of Essos. Rhaella leaves through the pages, searching for something appropriate. Rhaegar had been most insistent in his desire to learn Valyrian, but his father hadn't allowed it, saying that Rhaegar would learn only when it was time for him to. Rhaella, on the other hand, had been more understanding. It was no easy work teaching the complicated language to a child, but her son was quick enough. A maester would be able to work wonders with him, she was sure.

Rhaegar could sit and listen to her for hours on end, lost in his own dreams, Rhaella would sometimes think as she spied his expression. Clearly, he would not give up the notion of learning. The common tongue posed little problem to him, and she knew that he had already hidden under his bed a tome containing the history of their house. The Seven help them all when the boy finally discovered the true content of all the volumes he brought to her. Suppressing an amused smile, Rhaella continued reading.

"Valar morghulis," her son carefully repeated after her. "What is that, mother?"

"It is a saying that translates to 'all men must die'." Rhaella lowered the book onto her lap. "Traditionally one answers to it with valar dohaeris. All men must serve. They greet each other with these words in Essos."

"Why don't we do the same?" The questions made the Queen blink. Rhaegar, however, had donned his most serious mien and was waiting patiently for a reply. The minds of children, Rhaella considered, were strange indeed and quite curious of the most unusual things.

"High Valyrian is less usual in Westeros, my son. One must speak the language of the people one rules. It creates a bridge between us all." And very few people did have a good, expanded knowledge of that tongue.

"But may be speak it here?" he insisted. "How am I to learn it if I do not practice, mother?"

"Your father shall be cross with us if he hears, love. But I am willing to keep the secret, if you are." Rhaella leaned in towards him, holding out her hand in an inviting gesture. "Remember, a Prince is only as good as his word."

"I do promise mother. He shan't hear a word of it from me." There was something inexplicably sweet about the way her son pouted. Rhaella nodded her head in acceptance of his words and took his small hand in hers.

"Come, I have just remembered that I have the loveliest little play in one of those drawers. Would you help me find it?" she asked, gently guiding Rhaegar out of his chair.

"Is it in Valyrian?" How typical that question sounded to her ears.

"Indeed it is. There is much to learn from it too." So mother and son started their search.

On the small table a piece of paper lay forgotten for the moment, the plea written in black ink soaked forever into the whiteness.


	2. ii. Rickard I

There was a chill in the air and the flickering light of the torch was barely enough to drown out the overwhelming darkness that had closed its fingers around the lone figure sitting on the ground. Next to the man, a lone skin laid empty in the dirt. At first glance it was hard to tell what the man was doing. He was down on his knees, holding his head in the palms of his hands, fingers curled into dark hair. He was not at prayer by the looks of him, nor was he commemorating a departed one.

The man was mourning. The slab of stone on which he rested his elbows was the wall that separated him from the only creature he had loved more than life itself. ‘Twas Rickard Stark that grieved for one who had left far too soon.

“I wasn’t supposed to be thus, Lyarra. You promised me a lifetime.” Yet Lyarra could not hear. She was beyond the realm of men, having crossed over to the land of shadows. A shade herself, if the old gods had taken her into their keeping; that, Rickard wanted to believe. And yet he could not reconcile himself to her abrupt departure.

She had left him without warning. “I do not understand, Lya. The master was sure you were fine. You yourself said you were fine.” But she hadn’t been fine.

The birthing had left her weak, and where there was weakness there was also the hand of death. Lyarra had seemed so strong to him, so safe. Yet, as she held her newborn son in her arms, another child began pushing forth. And she had screamed. She had cried out so loudly that the very foundations of the keep shook with her ache. His sweet Lyarra, she had given her life for the second child to be born.

Her daughter she never held in her arms. As Lyanna Stark drew breath her mother breathed her last and Rickard was presented with two children, a son and a daughter, twins. But where one was a healthy mite, the other had not been so lucky. The girl, when she first opened her eyes, regarded the world through two flat chips of ice, their grey colour dull.

The master claimed that the child was sightless. Rickard had been angered at the news, raging for days on end, refusing to see his daughter, not even Nan could convince him to hold the child. “I will not touch what the gods have cursed,” he had yelled when the old woman had attempted to put the babe in his arms. She had murdered her own mother, therefore she did not deserve his care or his affection.’

That, however, did not stop him from hearing her weep in the night. As per his orders, Lyanna had been given a room all of her own, away from all her siblings, least the stain of her birth contaminate his sons. Still, whenever he listened, he could hear her frail whimpers ring out in the dark. He heard her even as he stood at Lyarra’s grave. “What am I to do with her, Lya? She is a cursed creature, her shoulders burdened at the very minute of her birth.” Steps sounded out behind him. Rickard did not turn.

“Father,” his five year old son called out. Again, Rickard ignored the noise. “Father, you must come. There is a letter. From the Queen herself.”

“Go away, boy,” Rickard managed to spit out. “Go!”

But his eldest was not to be dissuaded. Brandon Stark was his and Lyarra’s first child, his mother’s son, the favourite in her eyes. He had held her love in a way that her second born, Ned, could never equal. Rickard could barely look at him. Brandon had his mother’s eyes, blue and lively, and the same joy in his gait. The father simply could not gaze upon his child.

Maester Walys, however, had followed the boy. “Leave your father be, young Brandon. You may go back to Nan and listen to her stories while I discuss with Lord Stark.”

Seemingly in an obedient mood for the time being, Brandon nodded his head and left, murmuring under his breath, like small children often did, no doubt thinking on snarks and grumkins and many other stories. Lyarra had not liked those stories. She hadn’t liked it either when Nan told those stories to the children. Alas, Lyarra was gone and Nan could tell her stories in peace.

Taking away the wineskin, Walys deposited it at a safe distance, hanging his own torch on the wall. “My lord, Her Majesty, Queen Rhaella, writes to us on urgent business. She wishes to know if there is a daughter you might part with and favour her by sending the child to King’s Landing to serve as companion.”

“What?” The wine was making him sluggish. Rickard shook his head. “Me? Have a daughter I could send south?” He laughed at that. There was no trace of amusement in the sounds that left his mouth, ringing grotesquely through the cavernous space. “She wants that thing, that foul child which slew her mother?”

“My lord, ‘twas no the babe’s fault. Lady Lyarra was weak from the earlier birth. The gods have taken her away, not your daughter.” The words sounded in his ears, but he shook them away. Maester Walys sighed. “What shall I reply to Her Majesty?”

Rickard searched for the wine. He cursed when his hand met nothing but dirt. The lord looked up into the blazing torch. What to do? He did not want to keep the child. And she was blind. No lord in his right mind would wed her with that infirmity. She was useless.

“Let the Queen have her, Walys. What need have I of her anyway?” He spat in the dirt, a sign of disgust. “But don’t tell her about the blindness. She might reconsider and not want her anymore. Simply send her along with a wet-nurse. Let the Queen do as she wishes after that.”

He just wanted to be alone with Lyarra. All the thinking was making his head hurt. “Go now, Walys, and do as I’ve said. Write to the Queen that she can expect the girl as soon as it is humanly possible on these roads.”

***

Voices were coming from the room in which none should be but Lyanna and her wet-nurse. Rickard’s ire grew with the knowledge. He rushed over to the door and pulled it open in time to see Brandon peering at the little girl, as Ned held her, helped by Nan.

“What is the meaning of this?” he barked, startling the babes who then began weeping. That stirred no pity in his breast. Rickard took two steps towards them. “What are you doing in here?” he asked his sons, yelling over the screams of the babes.

“We just wanted to say our farewell,” Ned offered by way of explanation, his small foot kicking at the dust on the ground. “Nan said our sister was leaving.”

“She did,” Brandon agreed, “and we waned to say farewell.” Unlike his brother, the more daring Brandon looked his father in the eyes as he spoke. “Is she really leaving?”

“Aye. Now leave this room.” He turned a blind eye to the angry stare Nan threw him and ushered the children out. As they were leaving, Rickard could swear he heard the woman say something. Yet, as he wanted no conflict with her, he allowed the comment to pass.

Inside remained only him and the wet-nurse. The young woman looked at him with a guilty stare. “Have you packed everything?” She nodded. “Is there anything else you will be needing?” The woman shook her head. “There is nothing you wish to tell me?”

Arra, he believed her name was, bit her lip and rocked the babe in her arms. “If my lord would hold her for a moment, that would be all.”

Rickard stared incredulous at her. “Hold her?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. He tipped his head slightly back, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Nay, I will not hold her. If that is all, you may leave.” And the sooner she did, the better. “You shall be waited for in King’s Landing, the bird we’ve sent must have reached its destination by now.”

With a small pout, Arra nodded her head. “I understand, my lord. Am I to remain in King’s Landing with her?”

“Only if the Queen requests it of you, girl. If not, come back here.” Clear instructions had been given. Of that Rickard was sure. “Now leave my sight with that.”

Thankfully, Arra knew not to test his patience. She gripped the child tighter to her chest and made her way out the door, certain that another one of the servants would see to bringing the small satchels she had left behind.

Unable to stand there and do nothing, Rickard followed them to the yard, watching as they loaded everything in a small wheelhouse. He wondered just how much Nan would have to say to him. Then he realised he did not care.

As the wheelhouse made its way towards the gates, Rickard thought he had never felt freer. Finally, he was no longer forced to live under the shadow of Lyarra’s death. He could breath. His lungs filled with air and the sky opened up.

Rickard stood in the pouring rain, still as a stone.

***

“You are not the boy I raised,” Nan said, her small figure having planted itself in the doorway. Rickard looked up at her from where he sat at his desk. “How could you do that to a babe? Your own child. You own flesh and blood.”

“I am under no obligation to discuss my decisions with you.” His gaze returned to the letter which he had been reading. _I have a son._ That was what the Queen had written. She wished for his daughter, to raise her along her own son. She wanted a sister to her son. Rickard nearly laughed. Well, at least one person would have their wish fulfilled.

He wondered, truly, what the Queen’s reaction would be when she found out about just the sort of child she’d been delivered. Would she return Lyanna? Or keep her? Rickard had written in reply to her letter that he was willing to send his daughter to King’s Landing. But he had also given a note to the wet-nurse. If the Queen refused Lyanna, then she was to be left with anyone that would take her.

“Rickard Stark, what is the meaning of this preposterous behaviour?” the old woman raised her voice. “Lyarra would have not stood–“

“Lyarra is dead,” Rickard cut her off sharply. “My wife is not to be brought in this.” What Lyarra would have wanted, he could not know. “And from this day forth, you are not allowed to mention anything about her or Lyanna.”

Nan’s eyes barrowed dangerously. “Do not be impertinent, boy. I know you as well as your mother did, may the gods rest her. You shall regret this decision some day and then it’ll be too late.”

“Be it on my head then.” But in his heart, Rickard knew that he would never come to regret it. He had wanted Lyanna gone, but hadn’t the strength to leave her somewhere out in the woods to starve. He had wished her presence removed, and the Queen’s letter had arrived. It was the best solution he could have hoped for.

With a huff and an emphatic shake of her head, Nan turned away from him. Rickard shrugged and returned to what he had been doing, as the sound of her footsteps was lost against the flagstone, growing fainter and fainter.

The woman might have raised him, but he was still her lord and his decisions were his own to take. If ever she spoke to him as she had, Rickard promised himself that she would be disciplined. He would not stand for impertinence from a common woman. Nor would he allow her words to touch him. He had done what was best.

“If the Queen is so desperate for her, then she’ll care for Lyanna,” he muttered under his breath, signing his name on a parchment. “Or someone else shall. Either way, I have done my duty by the child.” Lyarra, wherever she was, understood, he knew.

Rickard stood up from his chair and walked to the window.

***

Brandon drew lines in the dirt, a pout on his lips. He paid no mind to his younger brother who has seated himself under a tree, watching their father in fascination. Rickard himself was wielding his sword, cutting imaginary enemies left and right. He brought his sword down in a wide arc, slicing through the air with a loud whooshing sound.

There was, unfortunately, no worthy opponent to match him, so Rickard trained alone. He had agreed to take Brandon and Rickard with him, if only to quieten the. Since their sister had been sent away, they trailed after him like to pups, begging not to be given away like Lyanna had been. Rickard had sworn to them that he wouldn't, yet not even his solemn oath seemed to calm them.

Nan would not intervene. She barely even deigned to speak to him when they were in the same chamber and she flat-out refused to aid him. Her only reaction was to blink slowly at Brandon or Ned whenever they asked a reassurance of her and shrug gently as if she could not quite understand what they wished for. She would drive him insane one day, Rickard thought.

"Father, can I try too?" Ned asked, his small feet carrying him rapidly towards his parent. Unlike Brandon, Ned seemed to take his mother's departure in strides. His older brother was forever oscillating between extreme happiness and tremendous melancholy. It was as if every day he found out for the first time about Lyarra's death.

It was the wolf's blood running in his veins. The same recklessness had run in Lyarra's veins. Not only did Brandon look like her, but he also had her traits. He was a creature of great passion and even greater capacity, yet Rickard feared the boy would be unable to channel his power when it counted. Ned, on the other hand, was milder. A quiet boy, he preferred to watch and learn, to wait patiently and ask his questions one at a time. He was his father's image.

Rickard bent down and helped Ned hold Ice. The sword was twice his length and very dangerous. "Pay mind to my words, son," he said, "never grip such a sword by the steel. It shall cut your hand clean off. Grab it just so by the hilt and lift it like this." He aided the boy in lifting it high. "Then we bring it down thus." They remained like that for a time, with Rickard instructing Ned. His boys were too young to learn their way around weapons, but one day, they would squire for other lord and until then they would have to be taught with great diligence and care.

And the daughter he had given away could have been a great lady, his mind whispered accusingly. She could have grown in her father's house surrounded by her brothers. Rickard shook the thought away. He reminded himself, rather firmly, that he had no daughter and continued with his lesson.

"May we go riding?" Brandon spoke loudly from behind the duo, breaking their concentration. Rickard turned towards the boy with a raised eyebrow. Brandon repeated his earlier question, his voice just shy of being unsure the second time around. "May we for a ride, father? Sitting here is boring."

"Then perhaps you ought to come here and help your brother," Rickard suggested. "After we shall go riding if you still wish it." He held a hand out towards the boy. Brandon dropped the stick and rushed towards them.

One year older than Ned, Brandon was a tall child even at his age. He was also quite strong, able to put down his brother without much problem. Brandon had been born to be a fighter. Ned, not so much. But with proper training, both of them would be fine warriors.

"Now, Brandon, do not push your brother." His son flushed at the admonition but stopped what he'd been doing, which was pushing Ned's hands away from the hilt of the sword. "You may both try to lift it together. Teamwork is essential here. Let us see how you do."

Of course they bickered. Not two moments had passed before the children started squabbling, each of them insisting upon their own idea. Rickard watched them with interest. He would step in only when his presence was needed.

In the end, they did manage to reach a compromise and the sword was lifted from the ground. As he had promised, Rickard took them riding as a reward, much to their joy. But as they returned, passing through the godswood, Rickard looked up to one of the red leaves and gasped.

On the thin surface a tiny face had formed at it looked down on him. Its vacant eyes pierced right through him. Those were Lyanna's eyes he saw. And there was resentment in them. Kicking his horse in the flanks, Rickard ripped his gaze away from the leaf. His heart was pounding in his chest and there was a strange buzzing in his ears. He feared he knew not what.

"Father," Ned and Brandon called out. He barely glanced at them. They tried again, but to no avail.

Rickard was looking back towards the weirwood tree, its grave eyes trailing them. Did the gods look at him accusingly? They were the ones who cursed the child. The lord steeled himself against the fear. It had been his imagination, if he thought better of it.

It couldn't have been his daughter. She was leagues away with the wet-nurse. Turning back towards his sons, Rickard gave them a short nod. "Come, let us hurry or we shall miss all the good food by the time we arrive."

With whoops of joy, Brandon and Ned sent their ponies into a trot, Rickard's bay following at a languid pace. Food had a way of solving many frustrations.

For one last time Rickard glanced back. To his horror, Lyarra stood at the edge of the wood, eyes glowing red. She frowned.


	3. iii. Rhaegar I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> N.B. The chapter contains a two-year time skip at the end (the last part of it).

He had crawled under the bed as soon as she’d heard the footsteps in the hall. When the volume was that loud is usually meant that father was coming. One could always hear the steel of the Kingsguards armour rattling. His mother had told him to not come out until she had had words with his father. Rhaegar had nodded solemnly and hidden under the bed.

And he waited for the door to open and for the words to start flowing. He didn’t understand why his parents fought so much and so frequent, but perhaps there was an explanation for it. One he would understand when he was grown. His mother always said he would understand it all better when he was grown.

Breathing as softly as he could, Rhaegar strained to hear the conversation that had started. The two voices filled the room, carrying on into the hallways no doubt.

“I have told you I do not condone consulting that witch,” Aerys was yelling at his wife. “She’s fed you lies and made you believe in snarks and grumkins. There is no curse here, woman. Your womb must be broken.”

“Brother, I beg of you, listen to me.” His mother then said something too softy for him to catch. Rhaegar reckoned he wouldn’t have understood anyway, as the words sounded foreign. “I gave you a child. And he survived. We could have more.”

“And we are. Just not with the help of that witch.” His father seemed unmovable. Rhaegar wondered if his mother would start weeping. She did that sometimes.

But Rhaella herself had started a defence for the old woman. Rhaegar could not understand what that creature possibly had to say to his mother. She had been by often. He wrinkled her nose. The woods witch smelled strange. It was not a spicy scent, nor was it particularly pleasant. Rhaegar was left with the taste of rotting rat in his mouth – not that he knew what that tasted like – whenever his nose picked up the smell.

Yet his mother insisted, on and on, that the witch had told her about a curse. She even claimed she knew how to break it. His father had grown quiet. Rhaegar could see his legs stretching out. He had sat down in one of the chairs near the window. His mother had followed suit. She continued to speak.

“I need only claim a daughter of Lord Stark’s and keep her near me. I have made the arrangements,” she explained.

“And what have you told Lord Stark?” Aerys questioned, his voice holding a small amount of amusement. “Did you speak to him about curses? I’m sure the man will be much inclined to send the child your way.” His foot tapped against the ground. Rhaegar could almost imagine him frowning. “What father doesn’t wish his daughter raised near a cursed Queen?” He laughed, strident and ugly.

Rhaegar’s lower lip trembled when he heard his mother speak again. Her voice was enough for him to know that tears pooled in her eyes. “Do stop, Aerys. I am telling you we can have more children. It is a small price to pay. She’s just a girl.”

“A girl who will grow up with certain expectations.” Rhaegar was confused. His father did not seem pleased by the fact that they could raise a daughter well. “And what do we do with her when you are no longer in your childbearing years?”

“We treat her as our own.” His mother stood to her feet and walked to the small desk at the other end of the room. She took a large tome from it and returned to Aerys’ side. She deposited the book in his arms after having opened it. “Here.”

His father murmured words, as if he were reading out loud. Rhaegar narrowed his eyes in annoyance at not knowing what was being said. However, they did not keep him waiting long. His curiosity was assuaged when Aerys closed the tome with a loud sound. “What would this gain us?”

“They are descendants of the First Men, husband, they are also an old house. Far older than us. Wasn’t that the primary reason for which Maekar wed Lady Dyanna Dayne?” Rhaegar bit his lip at the question. The conversation was starting to make sense. “The North is the biggest kingdom of all the seven. An eight thousand year old name, the biggest effective of men and an indestructible tie to our house; let us not forget the song, Aerys.”

“The song,” his father repeated. “You think this could be it?”

Quickly sorting through all the songs he knew, Rhaegar tried to find one that fit the current situation. Nothing came to mind. What song could they be speaking of?

“It has to be. The song of ice and fire.” The name meant nothing to him. Rhaegar wondered when they would be done with their talk. He was starting to feel strange. “The prophecy, brother, I tell you ‘tis the prophecy.”

His head was starting to smart. Song and prophecies and so many things he knew nothing about filled his mind. He would have to ask mother about it. About all of it. But until that time came he dearly wished his father would leave, so he could get out from under the bed.

“Very well, if you are so invested in this scheme, I shall allow it.” The magnanimous statement drew a gasp from his mother’s lips. Rhaegar could sense that the end was near. “But if this charm of yours proves useless, there will be consequences.” The ominous feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach rather put Rhaegar in the mind of cuts and bruises. He shuddered.

“I understand,” Rhaella replied. “And you have my word that it shall be as you wish.”

The sound of footsteps assaulted his ears and Rhaegar could see his father walking across the floor, towards the door. Something flashed in the hallway and the door closed with a loud sound. A long moment of silence followed.

“Rhaegar, come out from under the bed,” his mother said, kneeling on the ground. “He is gone. Let us continue our lessons.”

Before his father had interrupted with his tirade, mother had been teaching him High Valyrian as she had promised. Thankfully, the King had been too busy questioning his wife to notice the paper and books they had left on the desk. Or he might have been too stunned by the news the Queen’s wish to raise a child that was not her own. Whichever the case, Rhaegar’s interest had shifted from languages to prophecies and songs.

“Mother, what is this song of ice and fire?” he asked, unperturbed for a moment.

Rhaella sighed. She sat down and folded her hands in her lap. She seemed to be searching for words. “It is a prophecy, my son. A promise of salvation, if you will. A long time ago, Daenys Targaryen, sometimes called the Dreamer, had visions about the fate of the world. She wrote down these dreams into a book which has been lost for long a time now.” Rhaegar looked at his mother in wonder, leaning in closer. “Among her many dreams, she also had a vision of salvation. Part of it has been preserved in a Song of Ice and Fire.”

“How does this song sound?” Rhaella laughed at the question, gently touching his cheek.

“It is not a song in itself, son. ‘Tis but words, and we have only fragments of it.” She went on to tell about the prince that was promised, a figure of legend, a hero long awaited, that was to be born in the house of the dragon.

Rhaegar tipped his head to the side. It seemed a strange thing that a song did not have a sound. If a song was only spoken, or not even a song, why name it a song? It did not make any sense. His mother, however, had finished with the explanation concerning prophecies and songs that were not songs.

His lesson in High Valyrian continued, though his concentration had significantly dropped since the morning. Had he not heard a word about the prophecy, he might have been able to pay proper attention to the first declension of nouns, but as it was, he was trying to find answers to these questions that had bloomed in his mind.

“Rhaegar,” Rhaella called his attention, “do pay attention. I do not enjoy speaking to the walls.”

“Apologies, mother.” He looked down at the paper. The words written there made sense, which was comforting as it went to show that there were some things he actually knew. He did not enjoy not having answers. Alas, he was not likely to get the answers anytime soon.

“Now, pay careful attention to this verb. Depending on the context, it can mean two different things,” his mother continued, showing him exampled of what she meant. “If you are not careful, you might speak words you do not mean.”

And that was among the first important lessons he had learned from his mother in his young years. Words were important. In later years, he would remember, though not in great detail, the conversation. Words held power, sway, meaning, and they could seal one’s fate.

 

***

Edwyna Celtigar had been tasked with watching him. Rhaegar did not know where his mother had gone. The Queen had been called away quite suddenly by a Septa whose name Rhaegar had forgotten. There had been excitement on her face, so Rhaegar hadn’t been overly worried.

However, that had been quite some time ago and her return did not seem any nearer. Edwyna continued to watch his rather like a hawk, her pinched face rather out of place near the fully bloomed rosebush. Out of all his mother’s ladies-in-waiting, she was the one he disliked the most. A strange woman with a harsh voice and barely any warmth to her, Rhaegar wondered if she even knew how to smile.

“Your Grace, have a care,” the woman called out, raising one of her hands slightly in a prohibitive gesture. “One of the hounds might be sleeping in the bushes.”

They did that sometimes, his father’s hounds. The King was not a great hunter, but he did own hounds. They were well-behaved creatures so long as they’d been fed, which was not usually forgotten. The one time it did happen, they broke into the kitchens and stole a whole chicken which they then devoured in front of the stunned cooks and whatever other servants had been present.

At that time Rhaegar had been much too young to walk, still a babe in the arms, so he hadn’t seen it, but the story had endured.

Rhaegar poked the bush with the stick he was holding. “There are no hounds here.” The fates must have been on his side, for no wild beast jumped out from between the foliage to gnaw his face off. Had he actually caught one of those hounds in the ribs or any other part of anatomy for that matter, he would have been a few fingers short.

Mayhap more understanding than he would have given her credit for; Edwyna left her comfortable spot and reached for his hand. “Your Grace, this is not appropriate play.” She took the stick out of his hand and threw it away. It seemed that danger lurked around every corner. “Come sit with me, and we shall wait for Her Majesty together.”

With a small roll of his eyes, Rhaegar walked after Lady Celtigar, wondering if he might induce mother to never leave him with her. He would even take Bess Hill over her, though Bess was rather annoying with all her cloying speech. But at least she would let him run around a bit. Even mother allowed it, so long as he did not go out of sight.

They sat down under one of the old tall trees, waiting for the Queen to make her appearance.

When his mother finally returned, her women had flocked around her, cooing and shushing one another in a manner that suggested both care and amazement. Rhaegar shot up from his place and ran towards his mother. Rhaella waved her ladies-in-waiting away, a small smile on her face. She looked up from the bundle she was holding. “Come, son, I want you to meet someone.”

He was presented with a small creature, wrapped in pristine cloth. A small face stared up at him as his mother helped him form a cradle with his arms. He’d never held a child before. Rhaegar stared curiously down at light grey eyes and a heedful of short dark hair.

The child gurgled softly, startling him. Rhaegar instinctively jumped, knocking backwards into his mother. Thankfully, he did not drop the babe.

“Do not be afraid,” his mother spoke, her hand touching his shoulder gently. “This is Lyanna and she is your sister from this day on.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rhaegar could hear his father’s voice, speaking about consequences.

“What is wrong with her eyes?” he could not help asking. The child had been fixing him with her stare and though he had moved a bit, her eyes had not followed his movement. They simply stared upwards, a thin film gleaming over them.

One of the women took little Lyanna from his arms and Rhaella drew him away. His mother knelt before him, a frown on her face. “Lyanna cannot see, my son. She cannot see like you and I, but she is ours and we must take care of her.”

“Is she my sister then?” One was supposed to care for one sibling’s. For a moment, his mother’s face seemed surprised. She the nodded slowly.

“Nay, Rhaegar, but she is ours. Do you understand?” He did not, but he nodded anyway. “Good. She is very important.”

“I shall protect her, mother, I promise.” His solemnity seemed to fuel the amusement of the people around him. Rhaegar glanced towards Lyanna once again, only to see that she had fallen asleep.

***

Life had a way of falling into place. It had taken Rhaegar some time to understand that. However, by the time he was ten, the lesson had been firmly ingrained in his mind. The miracle that came about only served to strengthen that belief.

Since the arrival of Lyanna Stark, something had changed. Not only for him, but for the court itself. Of course, the King had not been enthusiastic at the arrival of the child. He had protested her stay and he’d been sceptic of the witch’s words, but his mother had insisted by her and Rhaegar himself grew fond of the child in whose presence he was often to be found when other duties did not require his attention.

Much fuss was made when the Queen discovered she was with child. By way of protecting herself, his mother had taken to keeping Lyanna near her, even going as far as to let the girl sleep in her bed. It was a rather convenient arrangement, truth be told, as Lyanna herself was comfortable with the Queen, in away that she was not with many people, and her presence seemed to be helping his mother.

The true miracle was the fact that the Queen gave birth to a babe, small and with a weakness in his lungs, to whom the maesters gave little chance of survival. In a rage, Aerys had wanted to punish the woods witch for tricking them, but he had also panned on sending Lyanna Stark away. Yet when Lyanna approached the babe, holding him in her small arms. The maester could find no explanation for what happened in that moment, yet when the child was deposited back in his cradle, his lungs had strengthened tenfold and his was no longer sickly.

Rhaella had smiled triumphantly at her husband when she presented him her healthy son and for the first time since her arrival the King acknowledged Lyanna as one of their own. Rhaegar had been holding her hand, trying to keep her upright, when his father had staggered down from the throne, in the cheers of the nobles gathered there, and walked towards his oldest son and the small, blind child he had allowed his wife to raise.

Lyanna, of course, had not been aware of his approach. Her small fingers had curled tightly around Rhaegar’s hand. It was something she did frequently, understandably. A healthy child in all other respects, Lyanna’s only flaw was the fact that her eyes could see no light.

Since she lacked sight, there was a fear in her of falling. A person near her might expect to be caught by the sleeve or by the arm and help her move around. The Red Keep was quite large. Most of the time, though, Rhaegar was quite happy to aid her.

A small sound had left her lips when the King picked her up, but she did not weep. Since she hadn’t released Rhaegar’s hand and her grip had been quite strong, he had had no choice but to raise his arm as his father held the child in the air.

“Well done,” he had spoken in a booming voice. “Well done, daughter.” And that had been that. His words had tied Lyanna irrevocably to the ruling house, a sign of the King’s acceptance of the Queen’s plans.

Once her feet were back on the ground, Lyanna pushed herself into his side and Rhaegar smiled down at her though he knew she could not see it. The birth of his brother was to mark Lyanna’s formal entrance into House Targaryen, though it would be years before Rhaegar learned on it. It was the very proof of her effectiveness that had the King convinced that she was a worthy consort of the throne.

All others, however, had been left with the impression that Aerys had welcomed Lyanna as he would a daughter of his blood. But they knew not about the song of ice and fire.

In the back of the room, a figure shrouded in dark colours watched the proceeding events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys (and gals), if you think I'm explaining too little or too much, now would be the time to tell me.
> 
> Since I can't read your minds, I'll need some feedback (in written form, preferably).
> 
> Because from here on, the real fun starts.
> 
> Well, happy reading y'all.
> 
> If anyone had any questions, feel free to ask. (I don't bite. Usually. If you're nice.)


	4. iv. Lyanna I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait, guys. Hope this helps though.
> 
> And before I forget, thank you to all of you who commented and have me kudos and whatnot. I'm really grateful.

Her world started with darkness. There was no light of day to greet her eyes when she came out of her mother’s womb. There was no blessed beam to fall upon the crown of her head. Nay, Lyanna Stark’s world began with an all consuming blackness, a veil of smoke that covered every detail that she so hungrily sought to learn through any means possible.

In the five years of her existence, Lyanna had been coddled and cosseted, a pampered darling daughter of a warm presence manifested through a dulcet voice which had the power to soothe her. That was all Lyanna had to recognise the woman who loved her by. She was not Lyanna’s mother in truth. Arra had told her one day, after Lyanna had called the Queen mother for the first time. She had said Lyanna was the daughter of a great Northerner lord and his wife, who had died in childbed. Rhaella had been so angry.

Her scent had enveloped Lyanna all of a sudden and she heard her yelling at Arra. “She is my daughter. How dare you claim otherwise, miserable wretch?” That had sacred her. She had begun crying in her mother’s arms – for Rhaella had insisted to be called ‘mother’, despite the lack of a blood bond between them. “There, there, sweet child. Do not weep. Mother shan’t let anything get to you.” Something soft pressed against her forehead, cool against her hot skin.

That had been a long time ago. That had been when mother had been hale and hearty. A shrill cry ripped through the charged silence that dominated the hallway. Lyanna clutched her brother’s hand tighter and hid her head in his chest, a small scared whimper leaving her lips. She could feel Rhaegar’s hand rubbing gentle circles against her back.

“There’s no need to be scared,” he told her quietly. There was something encouraging about his unwavering faith that all would be well. “Come now, Lyanna. Be brave.” Another scream tore through the premises reaching her ears.

“But mother is hurting,” she replied in a small voice that sounded scratchy to her own ears. “Why is she crying?”

Rhaegar’s hold tightened on her, as if his embrace could drive away all her fears. Lyanna burrowed deeper in his warmth, clinging to him with all the obstinacy of an infant in the presence of the sole source of familiarity in a sea of unknown. She could only hope that he would not let go and set her adrift.

“It’ll be over soon,” Rhaegar promised. She could hear the strain in his voice though. He worried. The Grand Maester had said that the babe was too early. It was a risk, bringing the child into the world, he’d said. But the King had insisted that they try to save the babe’s life. In fact, at the first sign of trouble, they were to bring the little she-wolf to the Queen’s bedside.

It had been agreed upon that Lyanna would be the first to hold the child when that time came. And thus, in the middle of the night – or so Lyanna thought, for she could not feel the warmth of the sun on her skin when she’d left her bedchamber – and had her brought to the antechamber where she was to wait. Rhaegar too had come, arriving only short moments after her. He had taken her up in his arms and held her through the long hours that followed.

There was something rather conscientiously kind in the way he treated her. But it was not, she had learned, pity. Many of those who saw her felt the need to pity her; as if pity would regain her sight or comfort or even respect. She heard them speak about her as if she were not in the room, whispering carefully about the poor blind child. It had always been on the tip of her tongue to yell at them that she could hear perfectly well. Some people thought that her lack of sight made a witless creature out of her. But she was no such person. As soon as she could utter words, a Septa had been given strict orders to instruct the child in all things that could be achieved and where traditionally feminine arts could not be conquered, Lyanna had to make do with history, poetry, natural philosophy and rhetoric. She could not see, but she could hear and she could speak. And words had a power of their own. Just like her gentle Rhaegar’s words did.

Life at court was a tale of splendour that hid a hint of decrepitude just beneath the surface. If the light of day, warm and bright – or do Lyanna had been told – showed one friendly faces and a mask of respect, the night was filled with bloodthirsty monsters, conspiring to bring destruction, to shamed, humiliate and ground to dust any opponent. Was needn’t be the brightest individual to figure such matters out. Besides, the king himself trusted almost no one and his distrust washed over his family, they in turns gazing with suspicion towards lords and ladies of good blood. It was a vicious circle in which the enemy was everywhere and nowhere and one’s weapons were wit and wisdom.

“Do you think we’ll have a sister?” Lyanna questioned after a few moments. Her hands had naturally drifted to some decorative small chain on his shirt, which she pulled and twisted gently between tiny fingers. “I would like a sister.”

Low laughter drifted against her ears. “I’m well pleased with the sister I have,” Rhaegar insisted. He often called her thus, his sister, most of the time when other lords and ladies were in attendance. When alone, he would call her by name. It forever made Lyanna wonder at the necessity.

The King and Queen were much the same. She was Lyanna when in private, but if she happened to be with them in a place where other also gathered, she was daughter, or child. And she had been instructed to fashion her behaviour by what she was called. Lyanna had a certain freedom to her speech and mannerism, but the daughter or the child was to speak when spoken to, answer only what was asked of them and make it seems as if naught was ever amiss. Her prodigious result in the area never displeased and she was often praised when ears did not listen. Still, to her it seemed the strangest of things and possibly quite unnatural, how one person could be entirely unrecognisable in the transition from private to public.

Creaking and squeaking alerted her that a door had opened. Lyanna waited for the eerie stillness to be interrupted by yet another yelp of pain or some such manifestation of mother’s own brand of warring. Nothing of that nature came. However, hurried steps could be heard falling against the stones.

“Your Grace, the little lady is needed,” a female voice whispered, atremble. Fear could be distinguished in those words.

Lyanna felt Rhaegar’s hold slacken and another pair of hands helped her down and led her away. Lyanna did not bother looking up, nor did she ask for the woman’s name. “How is mother?” she questioned instead.

“Her majesty is well,” the woman answered in an almost soothing manner. That could only mean that the child must have something. Otherwise the birth would have caused more of an uproar.

The Queen had often said that Lyanna was her charm of good fortune. Of course, Lyanna herself could not understand how that worked. Nor could she credit it. Still, the crone that was more or less a councillor to Rhaella Targaryen insisted that indeed she was a talisman that could only do good. But if she really were such a creature, with that potential running through her veins, then surely she would have found a way to cure herself first.

Soft sobs permeated the room, ringing out in its relative silence. Lyanna recognised the voice as belonging to her mother. “Bring the child to me,” she heard the Queen say. She was promptly lifted off her feet and carried towards what she could only assume was a bed. The mattress creaked under her added weight, dipping gently. Warm arms wrapped around her. “My dear.” Soft kisses were pressed against her cheeks and forehead. “Would you like to hold your brother?”

A single nod was the only answer Lyanna gave. She had been shown countless times how one should go about holding a child. A small bundle was placed in her arms, after someone made sure they had assumed a correct position. “You were no bigger than him,” the Queen spoke again, something akin to affection in her voice. Lyanna heard soft gurgling from the child, but no crying. That was very strange indeed.

“The pallor is fading,” someone whispered as if in awe. “She really is a miracle worker.”

“Well done, my beautiful girl. Well done.” A familiar touch pressed softly against her shoulder. Lyanna smiles, hoping it would be understood without words that she was only too happy to do whatever she could for those she loved.

“His Majesty, call His Majesty.”

***

Her sixth nameday came on a relatively chilly day. Lyanna shivered under the mound of blankets and curled into herself for warmth. Up until the particular day, the weather had been much kinder. With a whine of displeasure she tried to hold on to the suddenly flying coverings.

“None of that,” Rhaegar’s voice reached her eras. “Do you wish to waste this special day abed?”

“Aye,” Lyanna replied, quite without shame. There was no point in trying to lie to Rhaegar anyway. He knew her well enough to have understood that morning spent abed, huddled underneath the thick covers were a balm to her soul. “Just because you enjoy being up and about with the sun does not mean so do the rest of us.”

Her complaint was met with a snort. “Help her dress,” he spoke, presumably to one of Lyanna’s helpers. “And bring her to the courtyard after.”

“Why?” Lyanna asked, not mind one bit that she might have cut him off.

“That, my lady,” Rhaegar began, the formal address very much out of place, “remains to be seen.”

There were times when her dear – most of the time anyway, at least when he did not insist upon waking her from sleep at ungodly hours – friend got it into his head to do something or another and no amount of persuading him would put a stop to such plans. Lyanna was quite sure her nameday would be one of those days. Rhaegar was always available to be at her side when one such day came around. She could not rightly understand why he insisted on spending the entire day with her, but she did not protest either. It was nice to have someone who understood that despite her shortcomings, she did not need to be treated as a nitwit.

“I think we should go with the blue dress, my lady,” a kind voice said. “Or would you prefer the green one.” Her ladies sometimes asked her which colour she preferred although they knew fully well that Lyanna could not discern between them. It was a matter of choice, of allowing her the say, she suspected.

Pursing her lips Lyanna considered the matter for a few moments. “The blue one should do.” After all, the King himself had made a gift of that gown to her, claiming that blue was the colour which suited her best. And given that it was her nameday, he might come and see her. And if he did, he should be pleased that she took his words to heart.

They went about the morning routine somewhat swifter than they normally would, many hands pulling and prodding. Lyanna tried her best to remain relaxed in their care and not wince when someone accidentally tugged harder than was necessary on a thick strand of hair. She wondered, not for the first time, how she looked in the eyes of others. To her it was all the same, a sea of darkness which allowed for no glimmer of light.

She walked freely down the hall, counting every footfall. It took no more than thirty small steps to reach the staircase. Lyanna pushed her shoulder against the wall and took a step forward. It was a long way down and her count began once more. Behind her other footsteps sounded out. There was always someone walking behind her and a person waiting at the foot of the stairs. Most of the time their interventions was unnecessary, yet both the King And Queen insisted upon their presence, claiming that one should always be prepared.

Far from being offended by such care, Lyanna allowed herself to be relaxed in the presence of those people. They watched her like hawks, true, but they also made sure she didn’t fall and break her neck. Which was always a good thing.

“Myra,” Lyanna called after one of her ladies.

“Aye, my lady?” the other replies.

“What’s in the courtyard?” A short silence followed the question. Lyanna continued to climb down the steps. She wondered if Myra knew. It was unusual for that woman not to know something, but it had happened before.

“I couldn’t say, my lady.” Myra had hurried her step after she spoke. Lyanna recognised in such behaviour a desire to avoid further questions.

A small sigh made its way past her lips. They had reached the bottom. Lyanna knew that from that point on she could even spring into a run. But although she wished for nothing more, it was very likely that her running would give someone an apoplexy which not even Maester Pycelle would be able to take care of. And since Lyanna had no wish to cause harm, she did not take off at great speed.

“There she is.” Lyanna involuntarily raised her head at the sound of Arthur Dayne’s voice. He was one of Rhaegar’s closes companions and very strange boy who insisted on ignoring the fact that she could not see. For that, Lyanna liked him tremendously. “Well, my lady, are you coming? Or should we wait until the sun sets?”

The somewhat impertinent question earned him a scolding from Rhaegar but he did make his point. Lyanna hadn’t realised she had stopped walking. Thank the Seven for Arthur and his impertinence. A smile crossed her lips.

Before she could reach whatever destination those two had in mind, a hand clamped down upon hers. It was easier to hear steps approaching her when they were inside the palace. Outside, it was a tad more difficult. But Lyanna was much familiar with Rhaegar’s touch. She did not pull back, nor was she particularly startled.

“Where are we going?” she asked, when he steered them right. It was definitely not the road towards the small folly where they sometimes went.

“You’ll find out. Eventually.” Oh, so now he had a taste for mystery. Lyanna shook her head and tugged at his arm to let his know she didn’t appreciate the secrecy. “What is a surprise if you know all the details beforehand?” came the response to her incessant tugging. Lyanna stopped. He was determined and she was in no way desirous to ruin a surprise.

“The stables?” she questioned when the smell of hay and horse made its way to her nose. Lyanna inhaled, her face scrunching in confusion. “Is this where you’ve hidden my surprise?”

“Aye.” Rhaegar’s answer was promptly followed by him hefting her up in his arms. “Keep still for a moment, Lyanna.”

Doing as he said, Lyanna exercised her patience until he set her down. The sound of neighing and nickering filled her ears. She clutched at Rhaegar’s hand. It was somewhat frightening. Horses were large creatures. If she somehow landed herself in the path of one such beast, it could probably flatten her to the ground and steal away every drop of life she possessed. She did, however, trust that Rhaegar would not allow for something like that to happen.

Hinges creaked and Lyanna followed Rhaegar until they stopped quite abruptly. He manipulated her hand, raising it upwards until it touched something warm, wet and soft. Lyanna gave a startled little noise and made to pull backwards when she heard him chuckle.

“Don’t be afraid,” Rhaegar told her. “This is your gift.”

Lyanna sniffed, a bit miffed at his behaviour, but she allowed him to guide her hand once more. “Tell me,” she said, half-order, half-plea.

“It’s a bay pony. Like you, she’s small. Probably stubborn too.” That earned him a glare, though Lyanna couldn’t be sure she was doing it right, for all Rhaegar did was laugh. “But I reckon she’s strong enough to ride.”

“Ride? I do not know how to ride,” Lyanna reminded him. Most children were taught from the time they could walk. In her case, riding had been ruled out as being too dangerous. “Besides, I’m not allowed to.”

“Actually, I have managed to convince them otherwise.” Rhaegar had been the only person to whom she’d said that she wished, so very dearly, that she could learn how to. Her emotions must have been mirroring on her face, the awe and the gratefulness, for Rhaegar ruffled her hair. “Did I not say I would give you whatever you wished for on your nameday?”

Smiling widely at him, Lyanna nodded her head in agreement. “Can I pet her again?”

“She’s yours, Lyanna.” His approval given, Lyanna stepped closer gently and held her hand out. Something warm pressed against her skin. She waited, feeling the movement. Then Lyanna held her fingers out, touching what she could only assume was the snout. Her fingers moved up and down in a soothing pattern.

“What’s her colour?” she found herself asking. Surely her new friend would need a name.

“Black.” That had not been entirely unexpected, Lyanna though as she considered the reply. “Except for a one spot.”

“Where?” Curious, Lyanna turns her head towards where she thought Rhaegar was standing. “Will you show me?”

Her hand found itself was again in his clasp. Lyanna tried to memorise the path he led her fingers on. It seemed that the spot he was speaking on was on the pony’s forehead, somewhere in the middle. “Right here,” Rhaegar said. “It’s a bright spot of white.”

A light in the dark. Lyanna could not help the faint squeeze of her heart at that thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The child Rhaella had is called Aegon (b. 272 AC). There is a time skip of about a year, but in truth just a few months.
> 
> So at the end of it, it's 273 AC.


	5. v. Aerys I

The blade sliced through his flesh, a silent attack from the throne he sat. Aerys released a hiss of pain and held his hand up to inspect the fresh wound. It was the second time it had happened during Tywin's speech. Whether the throne found him as boring as Aerys did or whether something else had caused the mischief, the King could not tell. However, the blood dribbling down his skin gave him the perfect opportunity to call the meeting to a close.

"That should do for today, my Lord Hand," Aerys said, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "Not one more words about bad crops, if you please."

"Your Majesty," Tywin bowed and sat down. His eyes, however, had taken on a glint Aerys knew very well. He would likely have to take drastic measures to escape the man.

"My lords," Aerys began, fully intending to send them all on their way, "I thank you for your contributions, valuable as always, but I must depart, for the day leaves yet many chores which must be accomplished." He stood up, carefully avoiding one of the lower spikes. He'd cut his leg on that one too many times not to remember it. Thankfully, he avoided another wound.

One of his most trusted advisers followed him like a shadow, exactly what Aerys had expected of him. It was just as well, for the needed to speak to Varys. If he could somehow let the realm run itself he would. Alas, the crowned head had a duty to the people. Even if that duty proved unrewarding and difficult at times.

The guards opened the door for him as he made his way through the keep. The Kingsguards on duty walked behind him, their armour clanking softly. Aerys was comfortable in the knowledge that there were at least some people loyal to him and willing to do right by their king. If nothing else, it went to show the power of vows. Looking over his shoulder, he motioned the Spider closer with a slight nod of his head.

"Your Majesty," the bald man addressed him. What a strange fellow he was, Aerys contemplated. He seemed so very open and willing to help. But a snake was still a snake at the end of the day, and King's Landing was full of those creatures hiding behind human faces. "I have brought that which you have asked of me.

"Very well, Varys. I knew you would not disappoint." The implied trust was not possible to miss. Aerys found that it was often better to pretend one trusted those around him. If anything it would make them feel more secure in their position and any misconduct became easier to detect. Power corrupted as it had ever done. The mechanism was rather easy to understand. And one day Lord Varys would slip too and meet his end. Aerys just had to bid his time. "It is a worthy gift, is it not?"

"Lady Lyanna will be sure to enjoy it." There was a note of doubt in the man's voice which Aerys could not help but detect. It was easy to imagine what he thought. Most people were thus mistaken about little Lyanna. Fool the lot of them. But Aerys would not correct them. That child did not need eyes to see.

"Come, that is not the subject I wish to speak of." Lyanna and her lack of sight was dismissed from the conversation just like that. "Tell me why it is that my Lord Hand had brought his children with him from the Rock." Lady Joanna had not come, of course. But that Aerys had expected.

"The good Lord Hand hopes that his daughter might tie a friendship to Lady Lyanna. It would be thus much easier for her to find an accommodating spot at court." Varys added a small sly smile to his words as if the implication were not obvious enough. "Your Majesty, forgive my presumptuousness, but the eldest Prince had yet to have acquired a suitable partner."

"That suitable partner will be of my choosing," Aerys cut him off. "I know what my son needs. And as of right now, 'tis no wife he must have." The line was secure either way.

"Your Majesty was barely older when the betrothal to Her Majesty the Queen was announced." How very fortunate to have someone to keep the count of all that. "It is perhaps prudent to at least consider the matter."

Those scheming lions, Aerys thought with a slight grin. He'd expected that, of course. Tywin had hinted more than once at a possible alliance between their houses. He thought he could fool the King into giving him even more power. "You may be right, Varys, you may be right. Perhaps I have simply not looked upon the matter from a proper angle."

He himself had found the best solution to that problem, it would seem, without even thinking too much upon the matter. Aerys left the Spider at the entrance of his room with orders to wait upon him. He walked to the table, opening the small chest which contained Lyanna's present. The jewellers had done a good job of it. Aerys inspected the gift with a critical eye, trying to find a single flaw in the pattern. Not a one showed itself to him. Indeed, he was certain Lyanna would appreciate it.

Closing the lid, Aerys took the small chest in his hand and made his way outside with it. Varys awaited him at the door. "Find out for me what sort of children my Lord Hand had spawned. Do not let them near Lyanna until you have made sure they are of a good sort." After all, who knew what Tywin would encourage his offspring to do to a poor blind child who was, for all intents and purposes, the very piece which held the dynasty up.

"I understand, Your Majesty, and I obey." And with that, the Spider returned to whatever dark corner he had been nestling in before his services were needed and he'd been summoned. Aerys took no more than a moment to witness the departure.

Locating Lyanna proved an easy matter. There were few places she took to as well as she did to the small, private garden belonging to the Queen. Rhaella had gone with the children there often enough for it to become a habit. The Queen's garden was a small section inside the main garden of the keep. Surrounded by red brick walls on which bittersweet nightshade had grown, wines spreading all about, creating an intricate pattern, the garden housed a few rare species of flowers brought from Essos. In the early days of their marriage, Rhaella herself had cared for the blooms. But when she grew heavy with child, the gardeners took over. Either way, the garden itself flourished and grew, its beauty enough to steal one's breath away.

Aerys pushed past the artfully crafted gates and entered the sanctuary. Rhaella was the first person he saw. A she was wont to do, his sister sat in a wooden chair, holding Aegon in her arms, rocking him. Aerys had the impression that she was also singing to him. For a brief moment he had the urge to caution her against that, but then realised that suckling babes did not truly care if the songs they heard were not the very best. Rhaella had never been a good singer though.

"What are you doing to my son?" he questioned, approaching her silently. Rhaella jumped from her seat, slightly shaken. "I thought we'd spoken about this."

"And I thought we agreed not to scare one another," she replied. They both smiled, an old memory brought to life. They used to compete against one another, trying to scare each other. But they'd been children then.

"Here, let me hold my son," Aerys demanded. He handed Rhaella the small chest and took Aegon from her arms. The child fussed, whining softly at being forced out of the protective hold of his mother's arms. Aegon flailed a bit, gurgling. "How is he on this fine day?"

"Undoubtedly excited about Lyanna's nameday," his wife replied. "The nursemaid swears up and down that if he continues to eat as he does, he'll grow taller than even you by the time she takes her leave."

"You were right about our Lyanna." Aerys gave her back the boy. "And how is she today?"

"Apparently very pleased with Rhaegar's gift. She tells me that he has even promised to teach her how to ride himself." Rhaella balanced the child carefully. "I do not know how to feel about that,"

"Nothing shall happen to her," he promised. "Rhaegar is a sensible sort. He'll be careful." After all, their firstborn knew how much Lyanna meant to them. "Trust him to take care of her, Rhaella." And he had yet to fail that particular task. "Now, let us give Lyanna her gift."

They stepped deeper into the garden in search for Lyanna and Daeron who were being carefully watched by Rhaegar and his ever present companion Arthur. The sight which greeted them was not at all unexpected. Children, after all would be children. Lyanna had somehow managed to take hold of a wooden stick which she jabbed unsuccessfully towards a mildly aggravated Arthur, as Rhaegar was trying to explain to Daeron the difference between Silver Stags and Golden Dragons. Daeron, bless his soul, seemed most interested in the part where one put the coin in their mouth and nibbled on it.

"You are supposed to listen and pinpoint my location, not throw that stick around," chided the Dornishman.

"I am attempting to do just that," Lyanna informed him crossly. To her luck, Arthur just then stepped towards her, perhaps intended on correcting her stance. The tip of her weapon pushed into his chest, a direct hit to the heart.

"I believe," Aerys cut into their play, drawing attention upon himself and Rhaella, "that the lady had won this round."

A chorus of greetings followed his words, even young Daeron managing to follow the proper protocol. "None of that," Aerys waved his hand dismissively, "I wish to have a word with you, Lady Lyanna, if I may."

"Your Majesty," the girl thrilled. She was wearing her finest blue dress. No doubt she had chosen it with the knowledge that it would please him. And it did. Lyanna crossed the distance between them carefully. Her measured steps brought her fairly close to where he stood with Rhaella.

The King held his hand out, touching the top of her head in a gentle manner. It was odd to think that had Shaena lived, they would have been of an age. Perhaps if the late Lady Stark had been brought to King's Landing. Ah, but that was wistful thinking. He had a daughter in Lyanna, for she'd grown before his eyes.

Guiding her even closer, Aerys supported his weight on one knee, allowing Lyanna to lean against the other leg. He lifted the lid of the chest and gave it to Lyanna. The girl's fingers brushed against the carved wood, feeling the floral patterns. Aerys smiled at her obvious enjoyment. "You should search inside it."

"I shall, Your Majesty," she returned. Her hand delved into the box. Aerys watched her as she pulled out her gift, placing the box on the ground. Her fingers were busy feeling. Small digits brushed over small white gold flowers, sliding lower until they reached the stone. "It is a necklace, Your Majesty," she offered, her voice holding awe and joy.

"Not just any necklace," Aerys told her. "This had been made for you. White gold flowers and moonstones."

"Moonstones?" she asked, her face taking on a confused aspect.

"Indeed, moonstones. They match the grey of your eyes and the blue of your dress." Lyanna's thumb stroked the smooth surface of the gem. "Moonstones are very special. Take care of this."

"You Majesty is very gracious. May I put it on?" Upon that question, Aerys himself was the one who put the necklace on her.

After that, the children were left to their play. Aerys and Rhaella returned to a quieter spot in the garden where Daeron was taken by one of Rhaella's ladies. Retreating in the shade, they sat down. "I have the vague feeling that you wish to speak to me on an important matter," Rhaella prodded gently.

"And how would you know that?" he questioned, a challenge in his voice.

"Because I know you," she answered, as it it was the most natural thing in the world. "So, what is it that worries you?"

"It does not worry me. But I find it to be an annoyance." Rhaella kept her silence. Aerys went on. "Are you aware that Tywin has brought his twins to the Capitol?"

"I've heard," she offered. "He hasn't brought them to me though."

"And if I have my way, he won't bring them anywhere near you and our children. He wants to charm his way into power." A small disgruntled sound left his lips. It was an abhorrent idea by all accounts. More so considering that there was a slight chance of success. "He could ruin everything."

"I suppose he could," Rhaella considered. "But I am hesitant to show such lack of belief in Rhaegar. Do you truly think he could be swayed so easily?"

"Not now. He is fond of Lyanna, true. But will it last even as he grows into a man?" His son acted in a brotherly fashion towards Lyanna, which was understandable. However, there would come a time when she would be his wife. Could he break away from the habit of being a brother to her? Would he?

"It is useless to worry over such matters. Rhaegar knows what path he must take, Aerys. He is very much aware of Lyanna's position in our household. But if it should put you at ease, let us talk to him." Her suggestion was met with a short nod. Rhaella signalled one of her ladies-in-waiting over told her to bring Rhaegar. "Better yet, let us announce that we intend to wed them at the proper time."

They themselves had been married fairly young. Rhaella had been barely two-and-ten upon her wedding day and he a boy of three-and-ten. It was not uncommon. "It would not be viewed kindly. But I suppose it cannot be avoided. Let us wait, however, until the tourney held for Aegon to announce it."

Among the many proposals sanctioned, it had come to the King's attention that Tywin Lannister wished to hold a tourney in honour of Aegon's birth. At the same tourney he would have to soften the blow somehow. "I do believe we shall have to accept Tywin's get into our own circle," he finally said.

"Not what he was hoping for, but certainly nothing to scoff at either," Rhaella murmured. She knew well enough how the game was played. "Do you think it will be enough to appease him?"

"Nay." His answer was an honest one. Tywin desired power. An ambitious man, he would forever try to gain more and more. "But mayhap the situation may work to our advantage. It will buy us time if nothing else." They fell into a short spell of silence.

Aerys looked up to see his eldest son approaching. Rhaegar sported a slightly worried mien. "Father, mother," he inclined respectfully, "you wished to see me. Is something the matter?"

"We wish to speak to you, son," Rhaella told him. Come closer now and sit with us a moment." Her request was met with her son's compliance. Rhaegar sat down. "Very well." Rhaella looked towards him, waiting for his intervention.

"Your mother and I have reached a conclusion upon a matter concerning you, son. We wish to make sure you are aware of this and act accordingly," Aerys began. He gave his son a moment to nod his head in understanding. "You are four-and-ten, no longer a mere child. Soon you shall be a man grown. As a prince of the realm, there are certain duties you must take on."

His pause gave Rhaegar an opportunity to speak. "What duties are you speaking of, father?"

"Simply that it is expected of you to wed and further out line." A shadow passed over the boy's face at that. Aerys looked into his eyes. "We have already chosen someone of rank and virtue, an appropriate candidate."

"We have chosen Lyanna," Rhaella cut in. "You are aware, I trust, of our reasoning. It is important that you give your word upon this matter, Rhaegar."

"I give you my word." His declaration was met with twin nods of approval. "I do, however, have a request."

"What request?" Aerys found himself asking suspiciously.

"I wish to be sent away to squire. Father, it is time I learned to wield a weapon properly." That was certainly a surprise. Aerys stared at his son. Rhaegar was no warrior. In all his years, he'd been more comfortable with books than with weapons.

"That is easily arranged. But why this odd request?" came the answer. "Have you found a new interest in swords and lances?"

"I do not wish to have it said that I disgrace my house's name." A well thought-out reply if Aerys had ever heard one. Clearly his son had been thinking upon the matter for some time.

"It is a sound notion," he offered. "I suppose you will wish to leave as soon as possible." Rhaegar nodded. "Very well. We shall arrange it." It could do no harm, after all. There came a time in every man's life when choices had to be made. "Go now, before Lyanna fells that friend of yours." The note of wryness shone through the words.

"Do you think she might?" Rhaella teased, referring to Lyanna.

"I think that if we do not pay careful attention, between Rhaegar, our other sons and Arthur, the girl will take it into her head to learn the art of war too." The inherent danger in that was very clear.

The Seven knew, Lyanna was not powerless without her sight. In fact, one of his many fears was that the girl would develop an unhealthy sense of courage – otherwise known as folly – to compensate for what she perceived as a weakness. Still, it was all child's play.

"I am certain it is not so bad," soothed Rhaella. Her lips curved in an amused smile. "And to think you did not wish to have her in the beginning."

"I have changed my mind," he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day to those of you who celebrate it!
> 
> Consider this my gift to you. :)
> 
> Tell me what you think.


	6. vi. Rhaegar II

Dorne was a hot, sunny place, dry as a bone and twice as unforgiving as King’s Landing. Sand was everywhere. It crawled upon everyone and everything, tormenting every living being. Someday soon, Rhaegar was sure he would choke on it and die. Alas that was his fate. Rhaegar resisted the very compelling urge to brush the sand off. It would only find a way to get there again. He sighed for the hundredth time and wondered how much longer he would have to endure it.

“Is there something amiss?” the feminine voice of his companion interrupted his thoughts, slim, long fingers curling around his hand. “Rhaegar. You are far away again.”

“Nay, nothing’s amiss,” he replied, gently prying his hand away. It was rather disconcerting. “I am fine, Elia. Just thinking of home.”

And of Lyanna. She hadn’t written in quite some time and that worried him. He still carried the memory of their last meeting with him. She had pleaded with him not to leave her, to find someone to train him in King’s landing. But Rhaegar knew that if he stayed he would accomplish nothing. It was best to find himself another place, where he could concentrate of training.

So it had been that his father chose Dorne for him. Aerys had been sure to let Rhaegar know what he thought of the Dornish, and he had cautioned his son to take care of himself in the den of snakes. The King seemed sure that the ruling Princess of Dorne had a sinister plan in mind when she offered to foster the Prince.

For his own part, Rhaegar had seen easily enough through that. The plan was no more and no less than any other of noble houses. And Elia Martell was the main agent of it. It was rather a pity if he stopped to think about it. When no intentions were declared, no replies could be given. A couple of years ago, when he’d first arrived in Sunspear he would not have thought himself in any great danger. But it seemed he should have thought better of it.

“I should be very sad to leave my home behind,” she murmured. “But I would do it if the need ever rose for such action.” She gave him a hopeful look.

“I would hate for you to be sad,” Rhaegar offered. It was growing rather irritating, to be truthful.

If at four-and-ten he’d had more patience with the schemes, being curious, at six-and-ten he found them annoying. But that was the way of the world. When he first met Elia, she had been recuperating from a bout of illness. There had been something almost fragile about her. Not the sort of fragile Lyanna occasionally exhibited, but a desperate kind. Something chilling and not at all pleasant. Rhaegar could not tell from where those uncharitable thoughts had come, but he could not deny them either.

Then she had grown better with the passing of days. Three years his senior, Elia was a woman grown, graceful and soft spoken, charming in her own quiet way. But even at the peak of her health, she failed to be engaging. It was certainly no fault of hers, for she tried. But the very fact that she had to warned Rhaegar away.

Dorne was very different from his own home. The people were different, the atmosphere, everything. If King’s Landing was familiarity with its games of power and the presence of loved ones, Dorne offered sensuality, knowledge and loneliness of the most crushing kind. Even surrounded by people, Elia, her brothers, the Dornish court, Rhaegar was left feeling bereft. They lacked something genuine, something that would make him believe in their intentions as not being simple extensions of their hunger for power. There was no peace to be found in Dorne. The mechanism was familiar to him, but not the method.

Of late, subtle hints had lost some of their delicacy. Perhaps they supposed that he would lose himself to the Dornish Princess’ charms. Rhaegar looked at Elia, considering her silently as they walked through the gardens. When he had arrived she was taller than him, but after two years he had caught up to her and even outgrew her. Elia was not a short woman. She held herself with obvious pride, her stance elegant and alluring. Soft raven locks tumbled down past her shoulders, framing a delicate heart-shaped face. Her eyes were twin pools of darkness, gaps without end, that captured and held arrested the interest of many a lordling. What stood out most perhaps was the olive skin, so very uncommon in any of the other kingdoms.

There was no denying that Elia Martell was beautiful. She was also sweet when it suited her. Yet he’d seen her with her brother. Perhaps it was the closeness between siblings and the fact that she had to wear no mask in the presence of Oberyn Martell, but those two shared a streak of cruelty that could be witnessed best in the company of less than fortunate souls who happened to have earned themselves the scrutiny of the younger Martell.

“Mother says I might visit King’s Landing one of these days,” Elia began speaking again. Or was she continuing. Rhaegar had not been paying attention. “She thinks I could perhaps serve with the Queen.” Elia’s own mother had been at one point one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting.

“And you think you should like that? To do someone’s bidding?” That was exactly what he needed, Elia Martell in King’s Landing.

Her thin lips twisted in something like dismay for a moment. “I am certain I would love serving the Queen. I have always wanted to see the world though. Perhaps I might convince my mother to send me on a tour of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Which kingdom are you most interested in?” If he drew her attention away from her task, he might find an opportunity to evade the more obvious of those suggestions.

“I suppose I would have to say the Reach. I’ve heard such wonderful things of the rose garden at Hightower. I would like to see it sometimes.” Roses, Rhaegar thought absently. Roses of the colour blue. Lyanna’s roses, growing in the land of her birth. “And you? Which kingdom would you like to visit someday?”

***

Doran Martell’s Norvosi wife happened upon him as he was sitting under a tree, parchment and quill in hand, thinking on the words he wished to send home. The woman stopped and gave him a long look. Her red-rimmed eyes told him that yet again there had been some disagreement between her and her husband.

When Doran had returned home with Mellario of Norvos, the two of them had been floating in a perpetual cloud of happiness. The bliss had lasted for half a year before it crumbled like a wall of paper, melting before their very eyes. It was rather sad to think that two people who loved one another so passionately could lose that to mere spats on things of no value.

“Your Grace,” she intoned softly, “forgive me for disturbing.” A flush coloured her tanned skin.

“There is no need for apologies, my lady.” With that assurance she seemed to take some heart. In the next moment the woman broke from the path and sat down. Rhaegar returned his attention to the blank paper in his hands. Something was not quite alright. He could feel it in his bones.

“You are writing to your family?” The questioned flowed past him, for a brief moment failing to capture his attention. But then Rhaegar snapped out of his reverie and turned his head towards Mellario.

“So I am.” He held the quill up. “It had been quite some time since I haven’t heard a word from them.”

A confused look graced the woman’s face. Then her eyes widened as if realisation had dawned upon her. Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was very seldom the reason people had revelations and he would much like for that to remain so. Mellario drew herself to her feet, uncertainty colouring her stance. It seemed that a battle had commenced within her. Rhaegar too left his comfortable position with just a note of authority, to prevent any memory loss over the fact that while he was a ward of House Martell, he was still a Prince of the realm.

It paid to exert caution in such circumstances. His letter was abandoned on the ground, ink spilling out of the accidentally knocked over inkwell. It trickled onto the red sand, darkening its colour. “My lady,” he began in a calm manner, “actions have repercussions. Think very well on that which you wish to do.”

The woman cradled her one of her arms to her chest. “Your Grace, I love my husband, I truly do.” That confirmed the theory that the Martells had been planning something. Rhaegar continued to stare at Mellario. “I could never willingly place him in harm’s way.”

Like him, Mellario was an outsider. It did not matter that she was Doran’s wife, nor that he loved her. The law of the land was older and far dearer. On the one hand, it was understandable. A man could be taken out of his land, but his land could never truly be taken out of him. The roots were thick and deeply embedded in the soil. So it was with Mellario and her husband. Their love was starting to strain under the demands of the land’s law and what it required through the mouth of the ruling Princess.

A wise woman though she was, the ruling Princess did not particularly take to her good-daughter as well as it had initially been hoped. She had been firmly opposed to the marriage and very disappointed at the fact that it had yet to produce any children.

“I am not asking that you do,” Rhaegar clarified. “I give you my word that what you speak to me now, shall never make it past my own ears. But if you choose not to, I shall see to it that swift punishment follows. Make no mistake about that, my lady.”

“There have been letters,” she finally said, her whole frame trembling. Rhaegar took a step towards her. He’d learned his lessons very well. Enemies were to be intimidated, not petted and cosseted. “A few.”

“What did those letters say?” he prompted once she fell silent. “Come now, my lady, if you truly wish what is best for your husband and his family.”

“They bore the Queen’s seal, Your Grace. But I do not know what they said. I swear I do not.” Like anyone with at least two healthy thoughts to rub together, she knew very well that disobedience could earn her much worse than her spouse’s ire. “Please, Your Grace.”

“I believe you.” She looked him in the eyes, hopeful and somewhat uncertain. “I think you would not lie to me on such a matter, my lady. But if what you say is true, then I must know what those letters say. If you would be so kind as to bring me the next letter, I shall consider this matter as if it never were.” He gave her a soft, reassuring smile. “It is up to you, Lady Mellario, if you care enough for your husband.”

She paled and shivered, drawing in a shuddering breath. “All will be forgiven if I do thus?” Her hand come together, fingers twining.

“Aye.” Forgiven but never forgotten. Rhaegar took great care in presenting the woman with a calm façade. There was no reason to give her anything which might make her doubt him. “More than forgiven. You shall have my gratitude.”

Lady Mellario gave a swift nod before excusing herself. Rhaegar’s attention returned to the quill and parchment. If they had been stopping the Queen’s letters, it was very likely that his own letters had not been getting through. But what could be the purpose of such a scheme? Rhaegar sighed. If he unmasked the plot at an inopportune time, without an ounce of evidence, House Martell will claim foul play. As it was, there still remained a high chance of failure. Rhaegar swore under his breath.

He rightened the inkwell, dipped the sharp end on the quill in what ink still lingered at the bottom of it and wrote to his mother, much like he had so many other times, about wishing to have word from her on what went on in King’s Landing.

“This had better work,” he murmured to himself, quill scratching on paper. If not, other measures would have to be taken.

***

Jonothor Darry entered the chamber, a shrouded figure following him inside. Rhaegar stood up from the small table, eyes zoning in on the woman who removed the hood of her cloak. “Come, my lady, I have been waiting for you. Ser Jonothor, you may go.”

His guard nodded sharply. He did not wait even a heartbeat longer to do as he was told. Lady Mellario pulled a piece of paper that she had hidden from sight. “I could not the letter itself.” She offered an appropriate apology. “Her Grace the Princess became suspicious when I lingered too close to it.”

“Suspicious?” That could present a problem. Rhaegar did not allow himself to be disheartened however. “I suppose it could not be avoided, my lady. What have you for me?”

Lady Maellario held out the paper. “I had not thought the situation to be so dire, Your Grace.” Her warning served to pull at his chain. Rhaegar took the paper without another word. “Shall I leave, Your Grace?”

“That would be best, my lady.” The fewer knew, the better, no matter the outcome. “Before though, I have a question for you. How much does House Martell desire an alliance with the Throne?”

“Enough to plot and scheme towards that goal,” Mellario answered. “I believe I have kept my word, Your Grace.” She pulled the hood of her cloak back on. “I shall leave with your permission.”

“You do so, my lady. Have a care not to be spotted.” He had put her in quite a position, Rhaegar considered. The woman would be rather uneasy in the company of her husband if ever he found out that she had aided him. Yet that, the Prince reminded himself firmly, was not his problem. She had chosen her path and if she was as smart as she appeared, she would fall on her feet.

Looking down at the parchment in his hand, Rhaegar stepped closer to the burning fire and knelt before it. He spread out the paper and his eves devoured the words. It rather sounded like a reply to his own ears. An unfavourable answer, to be exact.

_‘If you are not able to return, for the sake of Lyanna, then at least do this kindness to your own mother and write to her. She is ailing, my son, and has been asking for nothing but a few words from you. It is cruel to refuse her this too.’_

Lyanna was ill. Rhaegar jumped to his feet, brow furrowing. He’d been perfectly right to be suspicious. Blindness hadn’t stopped Lyanna from writing to him as soon as she had learned her letters. Though he had to admit her messaged had grown fewer and far between since his nameday had passed. It was all clear. Her ailment was surely very severe to stop her. And the Martells had thought to keep that from him.

He could do nothing about the matter at present. But Rhaegar vowed that he would take action. Even if he had to wait a decade more to do so, Rhaegar would bid his time and strike when the opportunity presented itself. As he had told Lady Mellario, actions had consequences.

That aside, it seemed that the time had come for him to return to King’s Landing.

Stalking towards the door, Rhaegar opened it and called his guard in. Jonothor’s lank form entered through the doorway, his ever alert eyes searching for threats. “Your Grace, is ought amiss?”

“There is something amiss, Ser Jonothor. It seems we have been played for fools.” Rhaegar proceeded to explain the situation to his man. “I shall assume that the messages sent to you too have been conveniently rewritten so as to suit our hosts’ purposes.”

“I had no word that Lady Lyanna was ill,” Jonothor confirmed. “This situation need immediate addressing, Your Grace. Shall I find horses?”

“The fastest ones, my good Ser. We have to make haste, before they can even consider stopping us.” But for that he could not leave dressed in the grab of a nobleman. “Ser Jonothor, you might wish to change into something less attention grabbing.”

“Aye, Your Grace.” If ever his companion thought his plans less than brilliant, he never uttered that. Another guard might have protested at that. But apparently, Ser Jonothor was bright enough to realise the gist of the plan. “I shall be waiting at the stables.” With that the man left.

Rhaegar searched his own chest for the plainest articles of clothing that were in his possession. He dressed in haste and then prepared the bed to make it look as if someone was slumbering underneath the covers. A lock of hair slipped over his shoulder as he leaned forward and it struck him that silver hair was easily recognisable.

Pulling out his hunting knife, Rhaegar pulled on said lock and cut straight through it. The Valyrian steel of the blade ripped through the strands with nary a sound. The rest of his hair followed the same path as that first lock, gathering in a pile on the ground. He found himself a cap to hide the rest under. Satisfied that he could not feel the locks covering his neck any longer, Rhaegar placed the mess within the chest and locked it away.

With great care he walked the dimly lit halls, making his way down winding stairs. He had to reach the stables in good time, or nothing would come out of his attempt. Thankfully, security was lax – or at least enough to permit him to make for the stables without even so much as a glance his way.

As expected, Jonothor had already found appropriate horses. He had also donned darker clothing to better suit their purposes. Rhaegar gave him a light nod. “We should make for the western gates, Your Grace. The man that guards them will be dead drunk by this time.”

Far being from Rhaegar to contradict a man who knew better than him the habits of palace guards, the Prince settled for following behind the other man. As it turned out Jonothor Darry was right. The guard was drunk enough to let them pass without even asking for names or even remarking upon the strangeness of their departure.

They might have as well been dressed as befitted them, Rhaegar thought, not without a hint of amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. I'm mutilating characters again. I have no shame. So on, so forth. But, you know, I've decided that I like it better this way.
> 
> Thank you for reading, commenting, leaving kudos etc.


	7. vii. Lyanna II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, thank you so much. Over 100 kudos and many comments. You are great. XOXO
> 
> I've finally managed to put together a new chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Lyanna shivered and whimpered as a damp cloth was placed on her forehead. A drop of ice-cold water trickled down her skin and into a mess of tangled hair. Having seldom been sick and ordered to bed rest, she could not find it anything but strange and bothersome.

Her decline had begun shortly after the birth of the Queen’s fourth son, Jaehaerys. Unlike his other brothers, little Jaehaerys was born perfectly healthy. The King had still insisted that Lyanna hold the boy though. Out of the all the children she’d held, Jaehaerys had cried the loudest, fussing and tossing in her grasp. Lyanna had been so very happy. She had even written to Rhaegar herself to share with him the joyous news.

One of the hardest endeavours for her was writing. It had taken her Septa quite some time to teach her how to write the letters. It had been ardours and Lyanna had lost her temper more than once when faced with the challenge, but in the end she had managed. And then she’d written to Rhaegar, because naturally he was the one person she wished to send word to. She had thought that he would be so proud, as he usually was when she accomplished something. Instead it was to hi own mother that he replied and barely even mentioned her at all. Disappointing as that had been, Lyanna had continued to hold out hope.

And then she began to feel sick. The illness had crept upon her like a thief in the night. It began with mild indispositions, a slight headache and no desire for any activity. The blame had fallen on fatigue. Lyanna had not improved though even with many an hour of sleep. In fact, her condition grew worse as the time passed. The Maesters did not know what to do. A strange fever had kicked in, fierce and merciless.

“It is no good, Your Majesty,” she heard the high-pitched voice of old Maester Pycelle. “The child is not responding. I maintain that it would be best to bleed her. It will restore the proper balance.”

“But she is so small,” Rhaella spoke softly. “There is such a little amount of blood to take from. I couldn’t possibly. Find another way, Maester.”

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, all other options are void.” For the first time she heard the man speak in a decisive manner. Lyanna supposed that were she in good health she would find it amusing, his conviction. She had always thought the man rather strange. Pycelle failed to make her feel at ease and more than once she had hidden from him, preferring to wait whatever ailed her out. Yet it was no longer possible. “We must do this for her. Make haste, Your Majesty, else it will be too late and she will slip through our fingers.”

“You are certain there is no other way?” the woman insisted. The reply must have been in the affirmative, for in the end, Lyanna could but hear a long sigh. “Very well then, do as you think best. But know that if you fail and something bad happens to her you will answer to your King.”

How she wanted to smile at those word. When she had first showed signs on illness, the King had pestered every Maester with questions and demands. Her continued decline had only made him irritable, frustrated with what he perceived as incompetence on the part of his maesters. In fact, during his last visit, Lyanna had heard him get into an argument with Pycelle. Her heart was warmed by the fact that he cared so much for her.

“Bring me the leeches,” Pycelle uttered a few moment later. Lyanna heard people moving about. She tensed when a stranger’s hand come down, bearing upon her wrists. The grip of her limb tightened. Lyanna wanted to draw her hand back but she couldn’t. A murmur of protest escaped her lips.

“My lady, please be still,” a kind voice said. It was probably one of the other maesters. “It shall be easier if you do not move about so much. Would you like some water?”

Lyanna nodded her head, or at least she thought she did. Immediately after something wet pressed to her mouth. She parted her lips and a thick liquid slid in past her lips and teeth. Sweetness filled her mouth. Lyanna recognised the taste of honey. She had been fed with honeyed water before. It was supposed to help her regain her strength and keep her stomach filled in lieu of other foods she could not eat.

“Let me do that,” the Queen requested. The bed dipped slightly underneath the added weight. Lyanna felt the slight pressure on her lips fade. She whined, still feeling very much in need of nourishment. The pressure returned and her mouth was filled once more. “Here, my darling, Have some more.”

Distracted by the taste of food as she’d been, Lyanna failed to notice the approach of another person. Only when something cool and wet pressed against different points on her arm did she flinch. It was uncomfortable. Lyanna wanted to shake off whatever had crawled on her skin and sunk tiny teeth in her. It was disconcerting.

“What is happening to her?” Rhaella questioned, clearly unhappy. Lyanna wanted to reach out to her. “Maester, what is going on.” A hand pressed gently against her shoulder. “Keep still, Lyanna. You must keep still.”

“She is likely frightened,” came the reply. “No need for that, child. You are perfectly safe. Be at ease.” Someone pushed the fallen stands of hair out of her face, smoothing it back. “There now. Like that, my lady. It shall be over soon.” There was some comfort to be gleaned from that, she supposed.

“My poor darling. Have just a little patience. The Seven will see you through.” Loving lips slid against her forehead. “There, there.”

The leeches continued their suckling, no doubt growing fat on her blood. Rhaegar had told her that they could bleed a man dry if left unattended. She shivered at the thought, but did not try to pry them off. If she could just breathe normally. Lyanna prayed in her own mind that the gods would not take her away so soon. Not when she still wanted to stay.

***

“She is opening her eyes,” the familiar voice of Aerys Targaryen sounded out. “Lyanna, can you hear me? Speak to us.” Warm fingers touched her hand curling around it. “Come, Lyanna. Speak.”

“Might be she’s still tired,” Daeron offered, his thon voice ringing out somewhere near Lyanna. The five year old was energetic and always willing to play. Given that Lyanna was the person he most often wished to play with, he had been terribly upset by her collapse.

“Nay, Nay, I am awake,” the girl forced herself to speak. Her throat was dry. “May I have some water?” She was unsure of who had come to her bedside. The leeches treatment had worked as well as it had been expected, she supposed. Of course, she could not be entirely sure as she’d been asleep for the most part, only waking from time to time to strange noises.

Someone held a cup to her lips. “Not too much now,” the King cautioned. “How do you feel?”

“Better than I’ve ever been, Your Majesty. Is that you, Daeron?” Lyanna held her hands out. As expected the little Prince caught her fingers with his own and squeezed. The poor thing, he didn’t even know his grip was too tight. Lyanna yelped, instinctively drawing back.

“Not so hard, Daeron. You’ll hurt the girl,” chided his father. Not unlike his older brother, Daeron was usually very careful around Lyanna. He seemed to think that it was his duty to be her eyes and he often managed to help her out in some small way. Yet unlike Rhaegar, Daeron was a child. He wanted to play. And he wanted Lyanna to play with him. In those moments sometimes forgot about her deficiency. Once he nearly decapitated her. That had earned them both a Septa to dog their steps and make sure their games were safe.

“I won’t, father. I promise,” the boy protested. Lyanna found herself crushed in a hug. “I would never hurt Lyanna. In fact, when brother returns, I’ll show him how well I took acre of her.”

Even though, strictly speaking, it had been Arthur Dayne who took care of her. Lyanna giggled. “Rhaegar will be pleased, I am certain,” she offered. Lyanna was unsure if Rhaegar had requested it of his friend, or whether Arthur did it on his own, but whatever the case, Arthur Dayne had saved her skin more than once. And he had even continued Rhaegar’s lessons in horse riding.

To her great surprise, Lyanna found that sitting a horse was rather comfortable and the beasts were awfully intelligent. Arthur said that a horse properly trained could mean that even without her sight she could enjoy riding. And she did. Very much so.

“Well, in any case, leave her be. I am sure Lyanna will wish to make herself presentable,” the King began speaking. “It is time for you to leave these rooms and take in some sun. You are too pale.”

Such were the effects of being ill, Lyanna considered. She drew herself up. “That would be lovely. I certainly miss the sunshine on my face.”

The King and little Daeron left, allowing her some privacy.

One of her ladies came in shortly after. Lyanna heard sloshing water and whooshing cloth. With care and gentleness, she was helped into the tub. Lyanna sighed as the warm water hit her skin. It felt so pleasant. Her hair was pulled and twisted, washed clean of all sweat and grime. Her skin was scrubbed red as well. But the pain was worth it, she thought with pleasure as she left the filth of the sickbed behind. Wrapped in sheets and patted dry, Lyanna was treated to some tasty nourishment.

Her hair was plaited in a thick braid. It would not help with the drying, but it would make it so that the water did not splash everywhere. Lyanna hummed softly to herself as that went on. She pulled on her small clothes and then donned a thick woollen dress. It would ward off the chill.

“Very pretty, my lady,” came the exclamation. “Is there anything else you wish for?”

“Only the necklace His Majesty gave me,” Lyanna requested. The necklace was brought out and fastened around her neck. It was the one piece of jewellery she wore on her person at all times when appropriate. “That would be all. Let us go.”

Surprisingly, not even the many stairs she had to climb down made her fatigue. Lyanna supposed that to be because she was so well rested, or mayhap her body had simply gathered enough energy for it. Whatever the explanation, Lyanna was happy to be able to go outside again. “Not so fast, my lady. You may fall over,” one of her women cautioned. “The King will have our heads.” The words were only half-jokingly uttered.

“He shan’t, for I do not intend to fall,” Lyanna responded. She did not however slow down. As it turned out, she did not fall either. Once outside, she drew air into her lungs greedily. It felt so good. “I have missed this.”

“And we have missed you,” came the bored, but nonetheless kind voice of Arthur Dayne. Still, startled, Lyanna jumped at the words. He laughed, not meanly, and spoke again. “That frightening, am I?”

Lyanna snorted in reply. “I am not frightened. Need I remind you I was born in the North? You couldn’t frighten me if you tried.”

“Still, do not make an attempt,” came the wise suggestion of a random person.

“If you say so, my lady,” Arthur said. Lyanna could not determine if she was speaking to her or to another person. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much better.” Lyanna held one of her hands out. “It was terribly lonely though. I’m glad to be up and about.”

“So is your filly. She has missed you very much. Do you know, she even tried to leave her stall?” A light chuckle followed that statement.

“Then let us not waste anymore time. Take me to her.” The demand was met with something that sounded like a mock complaint. Lyanna merely waited.

“Come then, my lady. Let us be on our way,” Arthur added.

***

Late in the night commotion sounded out in the hallways. Lyanna groaned softly and tossed between the sheets. She pulled her blanket around her, using it as an armour. It did not exactly muffle the annoying sounds, but perhaps if she could ignore them for long enough, she might be able to fall back into a deep slumber.

Lyanna closed her eyes, though she supposed it hardly mattered as no images ever formed before them. She sighed. Sleep refused to come. It might be because she had slept so much during her illness . Or perhaps the gods simply thought it amusing to keep her up at night when she could be sleeping and not thinking about the various worries of the day.

In a particular spot which garnered attention was the fact that Rhaegar had not yet written. Not even as much as a line. That was indeed a strange occurrence. So strange that the Queen had commented upon it and prevail upon her husband to send another Kingsguard to Dorne. Perhaps that would solve whatever problem had appeared.

For her own part, Lyanna was a tad disappointed with the whole handling of the matter. Since leaving King’s Landing for Sunspear, something had changed with the caring person Rhaegar used to be. His letters had grown few and far between. He wrote only to the Queen and he refused to come back. Even when it was insisted upon by his mother. Lyanna had wondered why the King did not take attitude, but she knew better than to ask.

Something crashed outside. Lyanna sat up, her head swivelling in the direction of the door. Her lady-in-waiting slept on. Lyanna could still hear her light snoring. Once more, sounds come from outside. It almost seemed that people were running up and down the hall. Voices followed shortly after.

The Red Keep was usually very much silent during the night. It was a wonder that so many people could be up at the same time to produce such noise. Lyanna slid out of bed and lowered herself to the ground, feeling around for her doeskin slippers. If only she could find them. She feared they been knocked under the bed. Her hand brushed against the cool surface of the floor. Lyanna took hold of something and lifted it up. It was one of the slippers. The other she found close next to it.

Climbing back into bed, she shook the other woman’s shoulder. “Wake up. You have to wake up.” A murmur of protest followed her statement, but Lyanna knew her mission had been accomplished. “There is something going on,” she did not hesitate in explaining. “I want you to find out what.”

“Aye, my lady,” came the immediate reply. Lyanna waited as the door opened and closed. She then put her shoes on and pulled a fur on her shoulder to keep warm. Just because she was slightly better, it did not mean that whatever illness had bothered her could not return. And then she waited patiently.

A knock on the door startled her out of the tranquillity she had fallen in. Lyanna looked up sharply. “Enter,” she called out, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking. The door opened with a creak and footsteps followed, coming closer. Strangely enough though, no words greeted her. Lyanna’s whole body froze as as a strangely familiar aura was made known to her senses. “Who are you?” she found herself asking.

The person, whoever they were, stopped advancing towards her. Lyanna waited with baited breath for some words, a scent, anything which could tell her who was in her bedchamber. Obviously it could not be just anyone.

“It’s only been a couple of years and you have already forgotten me. How disappointing.” And then it all made sense. Lyanna jumped off the bed with a delighted sound and rushed forward. She assumed that was where the voice came from. She crashed into her visitor.

“I thought you were never coming back,” she said, the word muffled into cloth. Lyanna felt herself being picked up and held in strong arms. “I’ve missed you.”

“Have you?” Rhaegar teased. “Have you truly now?” He chuckled lightly. Yet Lyanna could hear that it was not amusement. “They said you were ill.”

“I was,” she admitted. “But I am much better now.” She reached for what she remembered as soft locks of hair only for her fingers to meet air. Lyanna frowned and tried again. Her fingertips climbed higher, trailing against flesh before meeting short curls. “What happened?”

“Never you mind that. It is a story best left for the light of day.” They were moving towards the bed. Lyanna found herself reliving moments of her early childhood as Rhaegar balanced her on one knee. “Suffice to say that I owe you an apology, my lady?”

“An apology? Whatever for?” Lyanna questioned. She was only glad that he’d returned. Whatever other frustrations she might have had vanished the moment she heard his voice. “I need no such words, Your Grace.”

“Oh, but I insist.” Rhaegar’s hold tightened a little around her. “I should have known that I was supposed to return much earlier. You cannot imagine what I felt when I found out you were sick.”

“Am I to understand that it would have made you sad had I been absent upon your return,” Lyanna teased lightly. The thought of dying was less scary in the face of her health holding out. “I daresay, Your Grace, that I was scared as well.”

“You are very important to me, Lyanna,” he sighed. “One day you will understand. But until then, promise me that you will take care of yourself.” The request had been a sincere one. Lyanna was but a smidge mesmerised by the response.

“I promise,” she spoke quite without thinking. What could she do to take better care of herself, she wondered a moment later. “May I ask a question?”

“Anything,” Rhaegar answered. “You can always ask me anything.”

“What is it that makes me so very important, Your Grace, and why I not understand it now?” It had sounded rather innocent in her own mind and pertinent too. So Lyanna merely scrunched her nose when Rhaegar laughed lightly.

“Can you keep a secret?” His question prompted as nod from her. “Very well then. But remember, you must tell this to no one.” Again, Lyanna nodded. “One day, we are going to fulfil a prophecy.”

 

                                                                                                                                              

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that for now.
> 
> So, listen guys (and gals), I don't know when I'll be able to update next. So if it takes some time, the I apologise in advance.
> 
> Tell me what you think of this chapter. Comments are sure to motivate me. :)


	8. viii. Rhaella II

Rage painted her brother’s face as their son stood before them. Rhaella instinctively took a step back, her fingers tightening their hold around Rhaegar’s arm. “These are grave accusations you bring. Do you have proof?” she questioned.

It was not that she did not believe his word. Rhaella had absolute trust in Rhaegar. He would not speak an untruth out of spite. Yet even so, House Martell was old ands powerful, with a great deal of influence. One could not simply accuse them of misdeeds and expect to solicit a heavy punishment based on mere words. It was simply not done.

“This is not a matter of proof,” Aerys growled out. “This is impertinence of the highest order. And even if proof was brought forth, a war with Dorne is not something we desire.” He held one hand up to stop Rhaegar from talking when the boy opened his mouth. “We are not prepared for such.”

Looking at him with slight confusion, Rhaella sat down in one of the chairs. “But surely we would be able to defeat Dorne if it came to combat.”

“Dragons couldn’t conquer Dorne,” Aerys said. “We do not know the effective of their military. But even more, we do not know what allies they have. Rhaella, a war is not as easy to plan as those books of yours would make it sound.”

“But it is less difficult than the Dornish would have us believe. Father, I say we keep them under observation for the time being. Fearful as they are now, it is to be expected that they will not move against us so soon.” Or perhaps not at all, Rhaella thought, a hint of optimism colouring the notion.

Aerys sighed deeply. “I do not think they will push further with such insolence as before. But I cannot allow their deeds to go unpunished. Alas, we must be subtle about it.”

“A reprimand that will not seem like a reprimand,” Rhaegar spoke out loud. Rhaella could almost see the cogs turning in his head. She smiled. Rhaegar could be counted on to search for viable solutions when it fitted him. “Perhaps we should give them what they desire.”

“But, Rhaegar,” Rhaella cut in, “what they desire is a Prince of the royal line.”

“And there are four of us, mother, out of which only one is truly spoken for.” Her son knelt before her. “A betrothal does not necessarily result in a marriage. This is truly the best way, mother. It leaves us enough time and ample opportunity to act.”

The King adopted a thoughtful mien. “That is possible. After all, who is to say what will happen until Daeron comes of age.” He sat down too. Rhaella stared at both of them, speechless, incapable of so much as making a sound.

They were asking her to sacrifice one of her sons in what looked like a more or less med scheme. Her Daeron was much too young to enter the game. “I will not endanger our children, Aerys,” she spoke a moment later. “They are not ready for this.”

“We need not even betroth them in truth. Rhaella, there is less danger in this than in a war.” He came to stand beside her. “Besides, I believe we might just be able to rid ourselves of two thorns in our side with one simple move.

“What do you mean?” she asked, not making sense of his talk. There were times when Aerys thoughts her better informed than she actually was. Rhaella was often obligated to remind him that she could not guess what he referred to if he was not clear.

“Only that e should allow nature to run its course,” Rhaegar explained after moment of tense silence. “Princess Elia is a woman grown. She may choose her own path.”

And what woman in her right mind would wish to wed a child, knowing that she would be past her prime by the time her spouse was old enough to bed? Rhaella nodded her head. “And the other thorn in our side?” she asked, her voice almost gentle.

“Lannisters. Let Lord Tywin and the Dorinish Princess dispute their claim to Daeron. In the end, they will tear each other apart without us having to lift one finger.” Fully understanding that line of thinking, Rhaella stood to her feet in a swift motion.

“But Lord Tywin is still hoping that his daughter might catch Rhaegar’s eye.” That would not happen, of course. But Rhaella had understood from the deceased Joanna Lannister’s many letters that Tywin was determined even as she was opposed to it. He was bound to be disappointed. “We cannot refuse setting the girl up as Lyanna’s companion any longer, now that she is ell again. It would only give birth to ugly rumours.”

“Cersei Lannister as Lyanna’s companion?” their son questioned. He was clearly not in agreement. “I thought she was to be kept away from Lyanna.”

“So we would have wished,” Aerys offered. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, shoulders tensing. “But Lyanna needs a companion and Cersei has been volunteered. We have no valid reason to refuse.” In truth, they had been stalling for nearly a full year. “At least we will be able to keep an eye on her.”

But they were putting Lyanna at risk with the move. Rhaella turned to look at her son. Rhaegar was frowning. “She will be well looked after. A guard will be with her always. Nothing shall happen. Schemes are one thing, direct attack are quite another. Lyanna is safe here,” Aerys assured his son.

Kingsguards were loyal to the King, but a man may yet be swayed. Rhaella glanced towards Aerys. He was so certain that no ill fate would befall Lyanna. “Perhaps if Arthur Dayne would agree to keep watch over her,” the Queen suggested. “That boy is her shadow as it is. And he is trustworthy.”

“That he is,” Aerys agreed. ”Mayhap that would be just as well. Arthur Dayne, you say. Then we shall speak to him as soon as possible. I cannot suffer the thought of Lyanna in danger.”

Neither of them could. Rhaella touched her flat stomach gently. She owed so much to that child. Lyanna Stark was irreplaceable in so many ways, not only as a saviour, but as a daughter.

***

There was something about motherless children that tugged at her very heart, Rhaella considered as she watched Cersei Lannister follow her father inside the King’s solar. Joanna Lannister, Cersei’s mother, had been at one point Rhaella’s own lady-in-waiting. Rhaella remembered Joanna well, and it was for more than one reason.

Joanna Lannister had been a beautiful woman. Her daughter certainly took after her in that, however, there was a certain haughtiness bred into the child that the mother had sorely lacked. That was not to say that Joanna had been meek. Nay, she’d been well-bred, softly spoken, but she had commanded attention and respect wherever she went. And for that reason, shyness had not plagued the departed Lady Lannister. More than once Rhaella had wished she were more like that woman.

When she had been crowned beside her brother, Rhaella hadn’t missed the way Aerys had looked towards Joanna. It could have been love. Or it could have simply been desire. Her brother liked all that shone and craved beauty before anything else. That was his way. And in Joanna it seemed that he had found that beauty. Whether anything came of it, Rhaella had never asked. It was pointless anyway.

By the time Joanna arrived in court, Rhaella was already the mother to the heir of the throne. And she would be her brother’s Queen regardless of whatever feelings might develop between him and Joanna. It was the way of their world. It had been thus for many a year and it would continue just so for a thousand more. In truth, Rhaella had more or less encouraged Aerys’ interest in the other woman by turning a blind eye to the affair.

At the very best, Joanna could only hope to gain some favour for her family. That was if Aerys did not tire of her.

And yet despite all that, Rhaella had liked Joanna. They hadn’t been extremely close, for Joanna had found a friend in the current ruling Princess of Dorne, and together they had been inseparable. But as they had both served as ladies-in-waiting to the Queen, Rhaella had been part of their little group. They had shared stories and laughter and worries. It had been a sort of companionship which brought joy. That closeness between them, however, had evaporated when the Dornish Princess left and Joanna became her cousin’s bride shortly after.

Rhaella hadn’t mourned. There would be other ladies-in-waiting. Queens had many companions, confidantes; it would be foolish to break her heart every time one of them left. That lesson she had learned early on.

After her departure for Casterly Rock, Joanna had written quite frequently in the first few years. The correspondence had been lively and full of wit. And then she had her twins and other matters began to occupy her time. It had been perfectly understandable.

In the end, they had remained cordial towards one another. And now Rhaella saw the mother in the daughter and wondered if it was possible for Lyanna to gain a friend. Perhaps Cersei Lannister was much like her mother not only in image.

“Your Majesties,” Tywin greeted them first, Cersei following suit. She curtsied in an elegant manner alongside her father. “You have summoned us.” The Lord Hand’s face was inscrutable. Rhaella felt a chill run down her spine.

“Quite so,” Aerys spoke. His eyes had travelled to the child, Rhaella saw, and stared thoughtfully. Without doubt he’s noted the striking resemblance she bore to her mother. “We have thought it time to come upon a decision regarding your proposal, my good lord of Lannister.”

“And if I may, Your Majesty,” Tywin addressed the King, not even giving Rhaella a glance, “what is the decision that has been reached?”

There was something dangerous about the man. Rhaella stood to her feet and moved behind her brother’s chair, half hiding behind it. She could but wonder why those eyes of his were so cold. Joanna’s death must have taken its toll on him at a greater level than it had been anticipated.

If the gossip was unclear in what regarded the King and Joanna Lannister, then the woman’s relationship with her husband was less of an enigma. Tywin Lannister had loved his wife, possibly he’d even fallen in love with her. Joanna’s death must have broken his heart. A wave of sorrow crashed through the Queen. She was not, after all, made of ice. Grief was no stranger to her. Loss neither.

And yet his presence had brought something disturbing with him. Rhaella gazed at the little girl again. She was about the same age of Lyanna, a bit older perhaps. It was difficult to tell. Cersei Lannister was tall and lean, already displaying a great amount of loveliness in her even and smooth features. It seemed that she, much like her father was impervious to everything and all in her path. What a curious thing.

“Cersei Lannister is of an age with Lady Lyanna, whom as you well know had been in our care since not very long after her birth,” the Queen supplied, buying her brother some time with the intervention. Aerys glance at Tywin with undisguised distrust and seemed loathe to answer. “We feel that it would be good for her to keep company closer to her age.”

“Which is why,” Aerys cut in as Rhaella’s hand came down upon his shoulder, “we are desirous that your daughter provide said companionship. House Lannister is our greatest ally and close friend.” Well, at least he had managed to produce the words in an adequate manner. Rhaella had worried over that quite a bit.

“What say you, Lady Lannister?” she asked of the girl in the friendliest voice she could produce. “Are you willing to do this?”

Something indefinable crossed the child’s features, morphing her mien. Rhaella could not quite put her finger on what the meaning of it was. However, Cersei seemed to find her voice in the meantime. “I would be honoured.”

“There are, of course, certain issues that must be made clear before we may proceed,” Aerys said. “The situation of Lady Lyanna is not unknown in court. I will assume that your daughter is also aware.” Cersei nodded her head vigorously as her father assured that that she did know. Her brother nodded too. “I want this to be clear, Lord Tywin; Lady Lyanna is to be protected from danger at all time. If so much as a single strand of hair breaks from her and your daughter is at fault, there will be consequences.”

For the first time, Cersei displayed an emotion – fear. Rhaella held back a smile.

***

“It is imperative that we do not give ourselves away,” her brother spoke, pacing about the room, hands behind his back and head bowed down. Rhaella sat on the bed, having drawn the sheets tightly about her. “They would love nothing more than to tear us apart.”

“We won’t allow it,” she replied with conviction. “Aerys, do you remember when Selyne Costayne tried to worm her way into your bed. She had the audacity to hide little bits and pieces of information for me. Do you remember?”

The King gave her a pleading look, as if asking her not to bring up such persons into their conversations. “I remember,” he replied nonetheless. “What of it?”

“Do you know why she did not succeed?” the Queen asked, pride bearing through the words. “Because when they go about springing their traps, most of them tend to forget that we are not only wife and husband, but also sister and brother. They do not understand us. Let us use it to our advantage.”

If there was one thing Rhaella knew how to do then that was protecting those she cared for. The blood of the dragon as just as strong in her veins as it was in her brother’s. But Aerys was often reckless, where she was calmer. He was the one that headed right into the fray, where she tended to wait for calmer waters.

“It would have been easier had the girl been a tad older,” Aerys groused unhappily. Rhaella could not help the laughter that escaped past her lips. “Laugh all you like. But I still say we should make our move as soon as possible regarding her.”

“There is time yet,” Rhaella offered with a hint of a smile upon her face. “Let them grow fond of one another first, won’t you?”

He pulled a face at that, like a confused child who could not understand why his mother refused to allow him the last lemon cake. “They are already fond of each other, my dearest sister. I thought that was why they spent so much time together.”

“I am certain you are right. But Lyanna is yet too young to be fond of him as a maiden is of a man. And to Rhaegar she is very much a child still. They have the right of it, those two. Be but patient and we shall triumph.” After all, many had tried to pry the power away from House Targaryen, and they had failed. What was one more attempt?

Aerys gave her a dry look. “How come you know so much about this?” When it came to the emotions of other, her brother could be quite daft. Or mayhap it was an issue all males were confronted with.

“It is not difficult to see, brother mine, if one knows where to look. Perhaps you should pray for better eyes.” Her teasing earned her a playful shove into a mountain of pillows.

“What an insolent wench you are,” he responded, settling himself comfortably next to her. “You know, I could punish you for speaking with such carelessness to your King.”

“Perhaps I should fear that,” Rhaella countered good-naturedly, “but I do not. An awful truth, I know.” She smiled at him before turning around to blow out one of the candles.

What strange dreams filled her mind as she slept, Rhaella was unable to fully remember when she woke up from the deep slumber she had fallen in the previous night. Aerys had left her bed, sometime before the rise of the sun. She’d heard him move about carefully, quietly so as to not wake her. Of course, half-asleep as she had been Rhaella had not paid the noise much mind. She’d simply returned to her dreams whatever they’d been. Still, she woke well-rested and in a bright disposition which led her to believe that the gods had sent her kind visions.

One of her ladies appeared at her bedside with a small basin of water. Rhaella washed her hands and face with slow, languorous movements. She slipped out of bed and asked for one of her favourite dressed to be brought to her.

Dressed and combed and washed, the Queen made her way out of her private chambers. At the door, she was promptly greeted by the Kingsguard assigned to her for the day. Rhaella answered cheerily, but did not otherwise acknowledge the man as he tailed her though the corridors. She hummed to herself and headed for the nursery.

Jaehaerys yet slumbered in his crib. The wet-nurse that fed him curtsied to the Queen. “Your majesty,” she greeted softly.

Rhaella nodded at her. “How is the Prince on this fine day,” she asked just as quietly.

“He is well, that one. Healthy and strong,” the woman replied.

The mother walked closer to the crib and took the babe into her arms. She leaned in to gather his scent against her nose. Her sweet babe.

From outside footsteps could be heard. Someone was running down the halls. Rhaella placed Jaehaerys back in his crib and left him in the care of the wet-nurse as she made her way into the hall. It did not come as a surprise when she saw Daeron come out from behind a corner.

“It is still early, my son. Why are you up and about?” she demanded of his, stopping his slight with a firm grip of his shoulder as he made to pass by her.

“I am not tired,” he answered with all the sincerity of a child. “And I wanted to play with Lyanna, but Septa Anora said I couldn’t because she was asleep. So I am going to wake her up.”

“You will do no such thing,” Rhaella contradicted. She looked up in time to see the rotund Septa make her way towards them, her face red as an apple. Daeron groaned and tried to pull away from her, but Rhaella knew how to go about handling sons. “No more of that nonsense now, Daeron,” she chided. “Let Lyanna sleep.”

“But–“ the boy protested, flailing about, “but she promised.”

“Well then you shall see her,” the mother answered. “In the meantime, come help me.”

At that her son looked up. “Help you, mother? What with?”

“Do you by chance remember those old tales you were speaking to me of the other day?” she questioned. Her son nodded dutifully. “I seem to have forgotten quite a bit. Would mind reminding me again?”

If there was one thing Daeron enjoyed, then that had to be chattering. He could go on talking for hours on end.

 


	9. xi. Ned I

Ned rubbed the long, winding bruise which decorated his arms and hissed as the pain shot through the limb like an unwelcome icicle sliding against his back. Brandon would have laughed if he could see him. His older brother had always been thus – a bit unable to empathise, that was; it was one of his biggest flaws alongside his famous obstinacy and possibly life-threatening recklessness.

"What are you doing, Ned?" Robert questioned, momentarily taking his eyes off the serving girl and looking at the other. "Still hurts, does it?" the older boy teased, though he did it without any intention to cause harm.

Prickled nonetheless, Ned threw him an angry glare. "What's it to you?" he groused unhappily as the other one laughed heartily at the misfortune he had caused directly. In training, Robert Baratheon was as fierce as any warrior on the battlefield. Ned had learned that almost as soon as he began squiring for Lord Arryn.

His friendship with Robert had begun as many a friendship had before them. Namely with a few distrustful stares and jabs made in joke and a few unkind words besides for good measure. After all, they were boys, and how else would they get to know one another. It did not take very long for the two of them to form a fast bond that had its foundation made upon common interest such as sword fighting, squiring and generally leading a pleasant life. In anything could make for better a bond, Ned had not heard of it and he declared to himself that he would not wish to even if he could.

Amongst the first persons he had met at the Eyrie, Robert had been the one which made the grandest impression upon young Ned's mind just behind Lord Arryn himself, of course. Robert had a way about him. Born the eldest son and heir of House Baratheon, he drew breath with a staggering confidence, one that left all he met in his path nothing less than bewildered. Ned himself had been transfixed at first, not quite certain that the boy wasn't Lord Arryn's son himself. Which was rather foolish of him, he learned soon enough.

Jon Arryn, honourable and kind man that he was, had no sons. According to Robert the man had been wedded twice but both his wives had failed in their duties to produce children. More than that not even Robert knew, for he confessed that Lord Arryn rarely spoke of his wives. If that was done with good reason or not, Ned couldn't say, for the affairs of the heart were a territory he dared not venture into; unlike his friend.

If Ned was somewhat shy even having reached the respectable age of two-and-ten and could not properly speak to a pretty girl with flushing and stammering, Robert, one full year older, had no such issue. In fact, it seemed that he exuded something quite irresistible to all females, be they of the peasantry or of a higher class. And he was also a stronger fighter than Ned, managing to win most of their matches, save for those occasions when Ned outwitted Robert and won them himself.

However, it sometimes still made him marvel that the other boy, older, taller and much stronger, would put so much effort into winning their bouts. It was a strange thing to be in someone else's shadow and struggle to reach the sunlight without entirely wanting to leave said shadow.

Signing, Ned looked mournfully at his bruised skin once more. He wondered bleakly what his mother would say were she to see him at that moment. Lyarra Stark had been, though Ned could not rightly claim to have retained strong memories of her, a strange mixture of gentleness and sternness, coddling her sons by not pampering them except on special occasions – of which Ned had not been given to have too many of in her presence. Yet even so, he could still remember that she had the prettiest smile and she would sometimes bestow it upon her sons as they played about the snow-covered ground.

Thoughts of his mother inevitably led to memories of his father and brothers. Ned wondered whether father would write again, or if he would hold his silence for another year, simply waiting for his son to come and greet him in his own time. What a strange man his father was. Not long after Lyarra's death he fell into a deep melancholy which nothing seemed to cure. It hardly mattered how good of a rider Brandon became or how well Ned had learned the lesson Maester Wallys taught or even that Benjen had managed to steal away some lemon cakes from the kitchens. All these exploits brought a mere gloomy glance. A strange man, indeed, Ned considered.

He could not help but wonder if that behaviour had anything to do with the sole missing Stark. When his mother died, it had not been because of an illness – a chill of the head, or stomach, or anything of the sort – but because she had laboured so very hard to bring into the world siblings for Brandon and Ned.

And she had done so. Lyarra birthed a boy, his younger brother, Benjen, and another child that all servants were careful not to mention within earshot of Rickard Stark. If anyone ever spoke about Lyanna Stark, they claimed that her eyes had been silvery and her skin too white. They said she'd been brought into the world to suffer, for why else would the gods have allowed such a child to be born. For whatever reason, the girl had survived even when left in incapable care and misery.

'Twas only Old Nan that sometimes spoke of the girl in hushed tones, saying that the child had been very like her mother, except for the eyes – which indeed, had been silvery, lightless little orbs – that resembled those of Rickard. Nan was among the few who thought that the child had been unfairly pushed away from her father's heart.

When asked where the child had been taken, she would sigh and worry her fingers and then sigh again. In the end she claimed that Lyanna Stark lived far in the south in the care of the royal family who had kindly taken her in for some reason unknown to her.

Something slammed hard against his shoulder, jolting Ned out of his thought and ripping a small grunt from his lips. He turned in time to see Robert's grinning face. "Be kind to him. Tya," he spoke to a serving girl who flushed prettily. "He is my friend."

Tya gave Ned a small smile, but her heart wasn't in it. She had been angling for Robert's attention, no doubt, but Robert had seen a prettier girl somewhere. Ned gave her a short nod, not at all in the mood to converse with her.

Nonetheless, Tya squeezed herself between him and Robert. "Do you squire for old Arryn too?" she asked sweetly, placing her hand on his.

Ned stared into her wide green eyes and gently pulled his hand out of her grasp. "I do. Same as Robert." The girl seemed impressed by that particular bit of information. Her smile turned even sweeter and seeming not to notice his reticence, she leaned in closer to him. A tendril of deep auburn fell in her freckles face.

"Perhaps I could come up sometimes to see you," she offered. "I don't think old Arryn would mind." Well, that much was true. Jon Arryn would not mind for likely the girl would accompany the respectable widow which sometimes visited with the lord. "Would you like that?"

"I suppose," Ned replied, his whole face colouring with embarrassment. The young girl laughed and held a hand out. She took his own hand in hers again and squeezed his fingers in a surprisingly strong grip.

"What do I call you?" she asked, still wearing her happiness of her face. "Robert is a funny sort. He introduces me to his friends but gives me no names."

Robert had also staggered away to a pretty girl of some six-and-ten years that had hidden herself against the wall. She was tall and slim with an ample bosom and thin ankles. Ned looked away from her momentarily, in order to better concentrate of his own partner. "Ned. You can call me Ned."

"I am Tya," she answered in kind. "Are you some lord's son too?"

Her question almost produced a scowl on Ned's face. But he held himself back. What good would it do to punish her simple maid's curiosity? "I am," he replied, giving her a hard stare nonetheless. It was clear that Tya was no lord's daughter herself. The fiery haired girl wore clothing that would befit a servant rather than a lady. Her dress was a bit too short for her, showing trim ankles and she wore no shoes. But then again, when Robert had convinced him to come down for the festivities Ned had not exactly expected to be meeting the King and Queen.

"That is so very well," the girl said in a cheery voice. "And what is your father's name? Which part of this old grand realm do you hail from?" She pushed herself closer to him and looked down at his bruised arm.

Rough fingers starting kneading the abused flesh as Ned spoke. "My father is Lord Rickard Stark and I am of the North. Winterfell is the seat of House Stark."

"The Starks of Winterfell," she echoes thoughtfully. "I have heard of you. In King's Landing."

How could she have? Ned gave the girl a startled look. "We have not been to King's Landing recently."

"Of course not, silly. But I served for some time in the King's keep and there I've heard many a time that the Queen kept a Stark child with her." The explanation had Ned concentrating his whole attention upon Tya. She, noticing that, gave a soft smile, a curl of lips that showed no teeth. "I even saw her once. Lyanna, they call her."

"You've seen my sister," Ned breathed out. Somewhere a sweet, sorrowful melody started playing. The lutes cried out in unison. "You really have, haven't you?"

Tya laughed. "I wouldn't lie to you, Ned Stark. I swear upon the book of the faithful, I've seen the mite well enough that one time."

"What did she look like?" Ned found himself pressing her for information. "Do you remember?" Why in the world he would be curious about a girl he saw a long, very long time ago and about whom not even father bothered to find anything, he couldn't say. Yet his heart beat with jerky motions within his chest and his fingers tightened around Tya's hand. "Tell me."

"Well, I suppose I remember," the girl said, an impish smile blooming on her lips. "Let's see. It was a few years back, when father still worked in the King's kitchens. I remember," she started but then promptly fell into a dream-like state, presumably combing through her memories.

Ned despaired on ever hearing the tale and wondered if he should simply drag her away and give her some coin for her effort. He tapped his foot impatiently upon the ground and glanced towards where he'd last seen Robert.

His friend was speaking to another girl, this time an even younger one. Unlike her predecessor she was short and somewhat plumb. Her mouth was small and round and red, not unlike her whole face. Ned shook his head. Robert did not really care about the woman he seduced so long as he had his fun with them. One day, Ned told himself, Robert would find that one girl who wouldn't fall for his smile. And that would serve him right.

Turning away from his friend, he stared at Tya again. She had not opened her mouth but she too was watching Robert. It took a long sigh and some more moments of silence before she faced him once more. A strange fire burned in her eyes as she began speaking once more.

"As I was saying, I remember the day very well. I had been carrying water for the kitchens and decided to walk through the gardens. They sometimes allowed us to do so, the Queen did not even mind our presence there so long as we kept our distance from her private gardens." Her explanation was completed by hand gesticulations aplenty. "So, I was taking water to the kitchens when suddenly, a yell came out of nowhere. I startled, of course, and spilled some water on the ground. But I did not even manage to calm myself when a slight thing came tearing down the path followed by two boys." Again she stooped and glanced at Robert.

"And? What happened?" Ned prompted.

"Well, I continued to watch as the girl laughed and ran. I only realised it was the Queen's Lyanna when one of those boys rushed to catch her before she stumbled upon a stone. I saw her palming the dirt and realised she could not see, for she was crying that one of her flowers had been blow away. And indeed, it had. It was a little bit before her. A person with sight would not have missed it."

"What did she look like?" Ned repeated his earlier question, shivering slightly.

"Small and slim," Tya offered with a shrug. "Her hair is dark – not black, mind you." She laughed and gave him a long look after. "Her face is much like yours if I think on it. Long and serious. But mayhap hers is smaller."

"That is to be expected," Ned replied quite seriously which only made his partner laugh. "What?" he demanded as she doubled over.

"She's prettier too and has a sweeter temper," Tya japed. "I reckon before long she'll grow into a beautiful lady." At that her countenance changed. Ned did not inquire as to her sudden sullenness. "Mind my words, Ned Stark; you keep that boy away from her," she pointed towards Robert. "He's a dear truly, but he can't help himself when pretty women are involved."

It seemed to Ned an entirely absurd idea that Robert would ever glance at his sister – a girl he knew only from stories – as he did at other woman. Lyanna was an abstract concept in his mind, an almost faceless little girl with something faintly reminiscent of his dead mother about her. But she was no lady and most certainly she would not interest Robert. He was about to share these exact same thoughts with Tya, but the girl took his face in her hands and pressed her lips against his.

Her lips were dry and chapped, thin and hot beside, as if she burned with fever. Ned made a sound of surprise which melted away like the snow of summer that sometimes fell in Winterfell. He could taste ale and even faintly the stew. It was no unpleasant by any means.

"If I remember more about your sister, can I come visit? Just to tell you," Tya asked of him. She clasped his shoulder and squeezed, nails digging into his flesh. "I promise I shall remember more," she pleaded with him.

Though he knew she likely had no more stories of Lyanna and that she merely wished to be closer to Robert, no matter that she had kissed him, Ned nodded his head energetically. "I'd be pleased," she said by way of encouragement. "I never managed to spend much time with her. My sister, I mean."

"You should ask old Arryn to take you to King's Landing with him when he's going." The suggestion settled in his mind easily enough. It was a good notion and he had yet to think of it.

"How very clever," he remarked. "I should like that. Perhaps I might even be able to see her." Though she, by all accounts, would not be able to see him. But Ned had to admit to an almost impossible to resist curiosity.

Why had father sent her away? Why had the Queen decided to keep her? And how was she treated into her home? These questions demanded his attention for some time, during which Tya resumed her duties, not before promising that she would see him later.

Ned did not even wait for her to come around again. He started searching for Robert, intending to tell him that he was returning with or without his companionship. He looked to where the other had last been, but there was no sight of him. Ned walked around for some time, but seeing that Robert was nowhere around, he decided that it was useless to search for him.

It was late and the crowd would soon become unmanageable. Even Lord Arryn who presides over the festivities was sitting up from his chair and bidding his people a fair time of what was left of their celebration.

One man swayed left and right, trying with all his might to put his arms around a young woman who agilely escaped all his attempts. She laughed and taunted him, stopping for just one second, then taking off again. Ned pushed past them, ignoring the drunk's grunt of displeasure. He did not even look back as someone called out to him when he upset one of the tables by bumping into it as a burly creature jostled him.

Finally reaching his destination, Ned looked at Lord Arryn's flushed face and could not help thinking to himself that the man was rather full of fine wine and bitter ale. He stepped closer and closer still. Lord Arryn was speaking to one of his men, supposedly giving him the last instructions before he retired for the night. Ned thought it prudent to keep out of the way and await his turn with patience. And soon enough it came, on the heels of Jon Arryn sending his man away. Ned snapped to attention as his name was called.

"There you are," Jon Arryn said. "I've been wondering where you'd disappeared to." His slightly gruff voice was tempered by a light slur, a quality which he had obtained by imbibing. "Now where is the other one, I winder." He glanced around. Still, there was no Robert to be seen. "Where is he, do you know, Ned?"

"Nay," Ned answered over the sound of the crowd. Not that it mattered. By morning Robert would return on his own. He always seemed to do thus.

As if to confirm that train of thought, Arryn slapped his knee and staggered forwards. "I say we leave him for now. The boy has a way of making the best of any situation." There was little danger in the Vale for Robert. Unlike Ned, he had wandered through the village and made himself a great many friends. "Enough if this standing," the older man muttered. "It is past time we were off."

Carefully following the lord's steps, Ned hurried in Jon Arryn's wake, looking about just to make sure Robert was nowhere near by. He caught Tya among the masses one last time. She waved and smiled, a merry twinkle in her eyes, but did not break from her duties. Ned nodded towards her but his eyes moved on soon enough.

Drunks and jesters and women and singers mingle about. There is no trace of Robert, nor of the plump girl he'd been speaking to. Assured with that, Ned waked on even faster, resolving to no longer try to find his friend out. Likely as not, Robert did not miss his presence and Ned had other matters to concentrate of at the moment. Like finding out when Arryn planned to go to court and praying that time was soon.


	10. x. Rhaegar III

“I do not like this,” Arthur said in a calm voice that nonetheless made it rather clear that he was not at all pleased. “That you would work so hard to protect her, only to throw her in harm’s way with such alacrity does not make sense.”

Rhaegar gave his companion a long stare. “Do you doubt your skills?” he questioned lifting the sword high in order to see it glint menacingly in the sunlight. The sword proving satisfactory, he placed it away with a sharp move. “Or do you doubt me?” On the one hand, Arthur’s hesitancy was understandable. It certainly looked like Rhaegar was placing Lyanna in a position of little certitude denying her proper protection.

But in adopting such a view, his friend conveniently forgot about the fact that Rhaegar could not simply do as he wished. Insulting Lord Lannister was only safe as long as the man thought he had something to gain by enduring it. And that meant that Lyanna too was needed to collaborate in that, although she knew it not off yet. All the same, Rhaegar did not plan to satisfy the Lord Hand’s demand. Yet he would not cut off the branch from underneath his own feet.

“You know better,” he spoke again, as Arthur offered no reply. “You know me. Would I put her in danger if I was no absolutely certain that I could protect her properly?” The two young men looked each other in the eyes. A silent communication commenced between them.

The means by which they managed to make themselves understood were forever to remain unknown> And yet it seemed that with one glance, Arthur Dayne was willing to push his misgivings away enough to hear his friend’s plan. “I will not let all my good work go to waste,” he stated stoically, sitting down as well. “What have you in mind?”

“It is fairly simple,” Rhaegar began. The cyvase board rested innocently upon the table, all pieces arranged neatly in their squares. He picked up the onyx king and held it out towards Arthur. Arthur did not hesitate to take it from his friend’s hand. “You know Tywin Lannister’s power at court have been ever increasing since his appointment as Lord Hand. And I am sure you are aware of his plans. After a general fashion, of course.”

“It is not so very different from other plans,” Arthur countered. He closed his fist around the dark piece and looked towards the board. Rhaegar smiled, knowing that he had made himself understood. “But that would be a tremendous effort. The Iron Bank.” The rest went unsaid.

Much aware of the inherent danger of such a scheme, Rhaegar could but nod in acknowledgement. “That is my concern also. As it stands, the Lannisters are valuable. We would need to gain some leverage before calling them out on their trespasses.” Which was no easy thing to manage. Tywin Lannister was not the sort of men people spoke about in anything but reverence and astonishment.

Only jokingly had he heard it said that he was ruled by his wife. But, of course, that was servant talk. No doubt the man had loved his lady wife – who had recently died, if Rhaegar was not mistaken – but that did not mean he had been in any way ruled by her. Nay, he was much too cunning for that, rather like an old fox.

“But that still leaves Lyanna in danger. Cersei is her father’s daughter,” Arthur pointed out. “Can’t you read as much in her eyes?”

“She might be,” the Prince half agreed. “But that does not mean we cannot eventually make good use of her.” Cersei Lannister was just a girl, barely older than Lyanna and certain to be easily influenced if she could be kept away from her father’s sphere. It was no difficult task, to be sure. It couldn’t be.

“Say that we do manage it,” his friend returned, leaning back in his seat, and allowing the king to drop on the board. The piece fell over and knocked down one of the elephants too. “The same have occurred to Tywin Lannister. If Cersei can be influence, so can Lyanna.“

“It won’t come to that.” Tywin did not suppose Lyanna to have much meaning to anyone but the Queen. That was Lyanna’s advantage over the lion’s daughter. “Besides, Lyanna shall be closely watched. Arthur, in this game we play, who do you think is ruler?”

With those words, Rhaegar pulled out a small sculpture and placed it on the cyvasse board. There was no white king in sight, but instead, an ivory representation of a woman had been placed down. The delicately crafted queen stood next to a much bigger dragon. “One day, I will tell you what this is about,” he laughed at the confusion on his friend’s face. “But until the time comes, I need someone trustworthy to protect Lyanna. Arthur, I cannot do this on my own.”

“You will always have a friend in me,” came the natural and, at the same time, expected answer. “You needn’t explain before you wish to, but I hope that someday is someday soon. Else I’ll perish from curiosity and your Lyanna will be left to fend for herself.”

On that teasing note, Rhaegar took the small queen back. He looked at the figurine and sighed softly. “I wish it were not so complicated. I truly do.”

“Life. my friend,” Arthur sagely delivered, “is only as difficult as one makes it.” He stood up from his seat and gave the Prince a small grin.

“You say that because the burden of responsibility is not yet upon your shoulders. I did not have the blessed circumstance of being a second son.” Climbing to his own feet, Rhaegar watched Arthur shake his head. “I would trade places with you in a heartbeat if it were possible.”

“Do you mean you would actually be willing to give Lyanna to me?” There was no seriousness in the question, but still Rhaegar could not help being mildly annoyed. Arthur laughed. “Seven kingdoms and a marvellous girl. You know, I’ve heard worse bargains.”

“I would not give you Lyanna, Arthur, even if the Father himself demanded it.” The statement was met with a knowing look from Arthur and a rather infectious smile. “Besides, she wouldn’t want to go with you.”

“Should we ask her?”

***

Daeron was rather like the plague. Rhaegar gave his younger brother a less than gentle look and bent down to help Lyanna to her feet. “What in the name of the Seven have the two of you been doing?” Lyanna’s dress had been all splattered with mud – though where they’d found mud, Rhaegar couldn’t fathom, as it had not rained for some time.

His brother mere scowled up at him and clutched Lyanna’s arm as soon as she was back on her feet. Lyanna, however, was apt and willing to offer an intelligible answer to the posed question. “His Grace wanted to see the horses and I offered to accompany him.” That explained the mud and the disarrayed state of both of them.

Still, there remained one glaring irregularity which Rhaegar could not ignore. “And where, if I may ask, are your companions?” As befitting their elevated station, both of them should have had at least one person watching them. It was rather disconcerting that it was just the two of them, wandering about. “Lyanna,” Rhaegar prompted as gently as he could manage.

“It is not at all dangerous, Rhaegar. I know this place like the back of my hand,” she answered, not at all concerned. That was her way and it was understandable, as no one had ever tried to cause her harm. But to his mind – older and, he believed, wiser – the easiness with which she dismissed the danger was worrisome.

Her other arms came to rest around Daeron. She was protecting him as she was wont to do. A strange sort of relationship had bloomed between his younger siblings and Lyanna. But by far the strongest bond had been established between her and Daeron. “We did want to wait for you,” she offered as consolation, “but then we heard something about a new lady coming to court and Daeron wouldn’t sit still after.”

“I already said I’ve seen her,” Daeron groused, “and I don’t like her.”

“You see?” Lyanna said. “I did try to stop him, but how does one go about containing a storm. I thought it would be better to join him.”

Rhaegar did not know if she should be relieved or deeply angered. It was all very well that she had wished to help, but not at the risk of her own life. “Lyanna, Daeron, let us move along.” Before his temper got the best of him. “Who is this lady Daeron wished to avoid?”

“I believe she is to be my new companion. Cersei Lannister,” the girl spoke, her hand coming to rest on his own. Rhaegar wrapped his fingers around her slight hand and looked at his brother, wondering if he should let him claim his other hand. Daeron, however, seemed pleased to remain at Lyanna’s other side and hold her hand. “Have you ever met her?”

“Cersei Lannister?” Rhaegar looked down at Lyanna. She was facing forward, keeping her steps short and swift. “I have never met her. Her mother, however, used to be the Queen’s lady-in-waiting when I was a child.”

“Do you know her?” Lyanna pressed. “What sort of woman is she?”

“Her name was Joanna and I do believe she was a good woman. Cersei’s mother is no longer alive, however.” The explanation made Lyanna stop. Rhaegar, feeling that, stopped as well. “What is is, Lyanna?”

“If her mother is dead, then she is just like me,” she considered, ignoring Daeron who was protesting behind her. “I do believe you were wrong, Daeron. I daresay you did not see it well. Or perhaps it was not Cersei Lannister that you saw.”

“Nay!” his brother cried out. “I know what I saw. It was her.”

Confused, but not unwilling to look for answers, Rhaegar shushed both if the before they brought the whole Kingsguard down upon them – or even worse, the King himself. “Enough of this, you two. Daeron, what do you think you saw?”

“I did see,” Daeron insisted. “And I know it was her because the other boy, the one who looks exactly like her, called out her name.”

“What did she do?” Rhaegar asked once more. Speaking to Daeron was often a frustrating endeavour. He would only answer when he wished to and then with only half the answer sought out. There was something of their father’s obstinacy in the boy and it was not yet properly tempered despite the attention lavished upon him. Regardless, he was determined to find out.

His brother’s mouth thinned in a mutinous line. It was Lyanna’s intervention that led to Daeron answering. “If you want to convince us, you have to tell us what you saw,” she nudged the boy gently. “What did Cersei do that you did not like?”

The boy mumbled something and for a few moments it seemed that he would not answer. But, in the end, he lifted his head and pouted. “She kicked Sixpence,” he complained.

Sixpence, Rhaegar had found shortly after returning, was a three legged dog. At some point he’d been one of father’s hounds, but some wild beast had savaged the dog’s leg and it remained with only three. Daeron and Lyanna would often go out in search for it and bring food. It was very much like Lyanna to do so.

The discovery that a child could be cruel was not something very new to Rhaegar. It was often the young people, through not thinking about the consequences of their actions, that brought suffering upon others less fortunate than them. “Perhaps she was frightened by the dog,” Rhaegar offered. His father’s hounds were not particularly friendly and they painted a fearsome picture. It was not out of the realm of belief that a young girl would lose her composure before such an animal, though even Rhaegar found it strange that she would have kicked at it.

“She wasn’t.” The reply produced a sigh form Lyanna. Daeron clutched at her hand. “You have to believe me. She wasn’t frightened.”

“We do believe you,” Rhaegar assured his brother. “But still, I say we do not cast judgement with such ease. After all, if you dislike Lady Cersei, we can always have her replaced with someone else.”

“I quite agree,” Lyanna said. “We shall see what comes of it.”

And that was that for the moment. Rhaegar thanked the gods and began leading both Lyanna and Daeron away.

***

Despite the cruel treatment he had endured, Sixpence was quite happily curled up beside the fire in the Queen’s room when Rhaegar entered. The dog raised its head lazily and watched him walk in with a strong lack of interest. His mother turned to gaze at him and then she turned to the dog. “Sixpence, show more enthusiasm, won’t you?”

“I think he is showing as much enthusiasm as he should,” Rhaegar countered with good-humour. “By the by, since when has he been residing here?”

“Ever since Lyanna brought him up from the kitchens. Now, don’t ask me how she knew this was Sixpence, for I don’t wish to think upon it. Suffice to say that if she could the girl would fill up the keep with injured beasts.” Rhaella laughed softly. “But I daresay this is not the reason for which you’ve come to me.” She patted Sixpence on the head and drew nearer to him.

Rhaegar nodded his head. “I have been thinking, mother. I believe we should write to Princess of Dorne. It would be cruel of us to allow them to worry needlessly.” He sat down in one of the unoccupied chairs and called Sixpence to him.

The three legged creature hopped towards him and put his hap on Rhaegar’s knee. The dog looked at him with round dark eyes and whined softly. “Who named him?” Rhaegar asked out of the blue, brushing his hand against the smooth, short coat of light hair.

“Aegon actually,” Rhaella answered a moment later. She brought over a cup and handed it to him. That sounded about right. Rhaegar nodded his head. His father had never named any of his hounds to the best of Rhaegar’s knowledge. “He mumbled the word and it took us quite some time to understand what he was saying.”

All the mumbling, Rhaegar thought, came from their father. The King had the unfortunate habit of mumbling when he spoke but did not actually mean to give an answer to the question posed to him. His younger brothers had embraced the habit and used it even when it was no needed. Rhaegar did hope they might be cured of that.

“Let us hope the next pet he names will be able to hear it clearly from his mouth,” the Prince commented and took a drink from his cup. The wine tasted sweet on his tongue and it flowed smoothly down his throat.

“Now, about those letters,” his mother continued, sitting down too. “Aerys should not like it if we were to do that. Your father has his own plans where House Martell is concerned.” And he did not take well to being thwarted. Rhaegar did understand. But he was not about to give up. Rhaella, seeing the determination on his face gave him a dry look. “We cannot go against the King’s word.”

“We won’t. But we still need someone there though.” Rhaegar glanced at Sixpence. The hound nuzzled against his leg, gave his hand a quick lick and the curled at his feet. “Is there no one trustworthy? Someone who could possibly help?”

“I shall try to find someone, my son. But I make no promises.” She smiled at him. “This is an ugly matter to be sure. I truly thought she was my friend.”

“It is no fault of your, mother. It cannot be helped that some people desire power over anything else in the world.” His explanation was met with a small nod from his mother, but her face still retained a pensive and somewhat thoughtful expression. Rhaegar put his cup down and held his hand out towards his mother.

Rhaella gave him her hand. “It is so very saddening to find one’s self unable to trust those who were once close friends. Sometimes I wonder if there was ever a Queen to live as in one of those songs. I truly envy them. So happy and content. While I have nothing but trouble.” The Queen spoke in an amused tone, rather like the whole matter was a particularly amusing joke, but Rhaegar was aware of the actual fatigue that hid behind the words.

It had been a lesson long taught to them that crowned heads were not allowed a moment’s peace. Rhaegar could not give her any words of comfort as he was one of the many reasons for which his mother had been put in a state of unease. Yet he had a duty, not only to his house, but to the realm and its people, and he had to press on.

“Which song did you have in mind?” he questioned.

She looked at him and pursed her lips. “This is so very strange. I have forgotten.” She shook her head. “I do believe we should conclude here, Rhaegar. I truly am tired.”

“Then I shall leave you to your rest, mother.” Rhaegar allowed her to kiss his cheek affectionately and patted his hand gently. He stepped over the god who did not even bother to raise his head again. Rhaegar left the room with quiet steps.

He walked into the hallway. On the walls the torches flickered, the warm light spreading all about the hall. It was fairly quiet. But the silence did not bother him. Rhaegar walked down the hall towards his own chamber, his fingers reached out to touch the red tinted bricks. There was a feeling of comfort about the space.

He reached the door of his bedchamber. He entered swiftly, without a sound. In the comfort of his own bedchamber, Rhaegar sat at the small table near the window, but not before he lit some candles and filled the chamber with light.

Outside the moon shone, its silvery light bathing the scenery outside and inside a warmer light, coming from the burning flames, flowed freely. Rhaegar breathed in deeply. He looked outside for a short moment. And then his mind was made up. He knew what it was that he had to do. And he would do it.


	11. xi. Lyanna III

A small hand caught one of her fingers, pulling and squeezing at the same time. Lyanna stopped mid-stride and turned a little so she might at the very least pretend knowledge of the other human’s position. “Aye?” she questioned the eternal darkness that stretched out before her. But it was not very difficult to summon to mind the possibilities.

“Found you,” crooned a young voice that could belong to no other but little Aegon. It always baffled Lyanna how he managed to escape his nursemaids and Septa. Laughter slipped past her lips. “Found you, sister,” the child repeated enthusiastically. It was quite clear he was as enamoured of her as he was of his success.

“So you have, my little Princeling,” Lyanna replied sweetly. She smiled down at him and wrapped her hand around his. “But do you not have to be with your Septa right now?” Her question did not seem to affect the boy too much. He clung to her hand and pushed into her as if he wished to lose himself in the folds of her dress. Lyanna would never quite understand her brothers, nor the love they seemed to share for her.

It was one thing that she had saved their lives – if one could call it that, for Lyanna herself found that she grew sceptical of those so-called gifts. If she were truly a gifted healer, or even a normal healer, then it meant that she herself would never fall ill. But she had been struck by illness, thus proving that she was no more and no less than perfectly human.

And how scared she’d been. Lyanna had feared death. A normal reaction, by all accounts, but one that had left a bitter aftertaste on her tongue. All her life she had been protected against even the slightest of threats, only to find out that the real threat was one that no one could stop. The King himself had no power over the hand of the Stranger, fatality or whatever one wished to dress the concept of death as. The utter helplessness had awoken within Lyanna a knowledge she wished from the bottom of her heart she could be rid of.

She had felt the Stranger’s cold, bony fingers gliding along her form and she had wondered if he would not spare her a few days more, just until Rhaegar returned. She had wished to cry out and pull away from the strange, cold touch. But she had to endure. And when it all came to an end, when she realised the stranger had gone and he’d forgot to take her along happiness had flooded her.

It was not the sort of joy one experienced when receiving a gift from one’s protectors, parents and the like. It was not a happiness born out of material gain, but rather out of the fact that she lived, that she had somehow managed to remain where she wanted to be.

There were so many things she still wished to do. And the realisation that a chance had still bee given to her held more value than all the gold in the Seven Kingdoms.

To be so young and to reach such understandings was a curse of sorts.

“Ah, my lady, this is where His Grace has repaired himself,” a new voice broke into the slightly one-sided conversation. “Lady Lyanna, I am so very sorry. I only looked away from him for one moment, I swear.” The woman continued with such words, apologising as she stepped closer and closer, the sound of her footfalls reaching Lyanna’s ear.

She had not heard the door opening. Perhaps her senses were starting to fail her. “There, there,” she consoled the other female to the best of her abilities, “Aegon is a right menace when he puts his mind to it.” The familiarity of her speech must have shocked the servants, for all Lyanna could hear was faint breathing. “Where was he supposed to be anyway?”

“In the nursery, my lady,” came the answer a short moment later. “Her Majesty will have already arrived. How angry she’ll be that he ran away again.”

“But she won’t,” Lyanna promised, taking pity on the woman. She knew exactly how much trouble these children could be when it suited them, and it unfortunately suited them quite frequently. “Why should she be angered by the fact that little Aegon wished to spend time with his sister. There now, let us make for the nursery and put this to right.”

Walking to the nursery proved to be a very good way of keeping Aegon preoccupied. The boy bounced left and right, occasionally knocking into Lyanna, though there was not much force behind these assaults. He pushed and pulled, no doubt wishing to she would play games with him. But Lyanna herself was very much preoccupied by other matters at that moment and in consequence did her best to calm the child down. Which was no easy task when one contemplated the usual attitude and temper of the dragonlings. May the Seven help however dared put themselves in their path, for Lyanna much thought they’d end up charred and burned for the effort.

A snort of laughter almost made its way past her lips at that particular thought. She did not however release it, as that would only alert Aegon that he may ain her benevolence and consequently a game if he were to insist.

As expected, the Queen was in the nursery. She was speaking in hushed tones and from somewhere within the chamber, the loud sound of scraping could be heard. Lyanna concluded that it was the second eldest son which had been sent to his lessons, though he wished none of those. Not able to sympathise, for she herself was a great lover of those lessons, as they were her sole contact with some rather interesting occurrences, Lyanna walked into the room, Aegon trailing in her wake, still trying to avoid the inevitable.  
“Enough of that,” Lyanna whispered to the child, her head turning ever so slightly in a gesture that spoke of mild annoyance. She loved these boys, she truly did, but sometimes she thought they could drive a person insane. “Now, Aegon, it is time to greet mother. Be a good boy and run along.”

He let go of her hand.  

***

“And this is Lady Cersei Lannister,” Myra said. The sound of small, quick steps falling in a rhythmic pattern on the ground alerted Lyanna to the fact that Cersei Lannister was approaching her.

Perched atop her seat, Lyanna merely nodded her head in acknowledgement on the other’s arrival, but her face was still turned towards Septa Leonora who was speaking to her about the rights of a lord on his own land.

Clearly displeased by the interruption, the good septa rapped her knuckles on the wooden desk. “What is the meaning of this, Myra? Do you not see that we are in the middle of lessons?”

“Aye, I can see that well enough, Septa,” Myra spat out. “I was instructed by Her Majesty herself,” there she paused for the full effect of the Queen’s importance to hit the humble septa, “to bring Lady Cersei to Lady Lyanna directly. I should hesitate to do otherwise.”

“Very well,” the other woman groused unhappily on account of being caught unprepared. “My lady, if you would be so good as to step closer to Lady Lyanna and have a seat, I should like us to continue the lesson.”

“That would be more than appropriate,” Lyanna ventured at the long last, having been silent until that moment. “I dare say Lady Cersei will find the application of law an apt subject for discussion. Have you been familiarised with it?” That question was understood as being posed to Cersei.

“I confess I have not, my lady,” came the answer, wrapped in the sweet voice of a stranger. Lyanna made a small sound in the back of her throat, equal parts surprise and equal parts discomfiture. “My lord father never saw the need of my knowing of such matters.”

It seemed to Lyanna that the lady was rather mournful for that matter. Of course, she was well aware that her own education differed somewhat from that of other noble ladies on account of her imperfection, but she had thought that law, as being applied to all and everything, should have made a subject on interest to all members of the realm.

“Then what have you studied?” Lyanna found herself asking, curious in a small measure of the newcomer.

“Dancing, poetry, singing and history.” Cersei Lannister had delivered the short list with utmost pride. “My mother would teach me embroidery before,” she cut herself short with a sharp intake of breath, “before she died.”

“I am sorry for you loss,” Lyanna murmured. She patted the seat closest to hers. “Then, Lady Cersei, what say you to gaining some knowledge on the laws of the realm?”

“I should like it very well,” the reply sounded out.

Lyanna felt a presence close to her, the warmth of another body so very close. She caught herself before she could shrink back. Perhaps she should not have allowed Lady Cersei so close. It was rather uncomfortable to have one’s own space invaded just so, even if there was no true nefarious intention at play. But she could no longer pull back. With a small sigh, Lyanna raised her head and spoke out loudly. “Let us go back to the lesson then.”

“As I was saying,” the septa began her toil anew, “a lord is much the ruler of his keep and the land surrounding it, until he reaches the border of his neighbour. On his land the lord had the responsibility of the rule. He must make sure his people work and that they provide him with the fruit of their work, so he in turn may feed them. For this purpose, he imposes upon them taxes.”

“But, septa,” Lyanna cut in, as was her custom, “there are frequent complaints that the taxes are too high.”

“They are certainly not,” came the answer. “But some peasants are simply lazy and unwilling to do their own duty. Perhaps Lady Cersei might offer some insight, having lived in her father’s keep until recently.”

“Oh nay,” Cersei disagreed. “My father’s people are indeed hardworking people. I have not known them to complain of too high taxes or not pay them. Except for one time,” she trailed off. Lyanna could only guess what exchange passed between her and the septa. ”He was a strange man, I confess, a sort of massive giant that had refused to do father’s bidding. He had to pay some coins for something he had taken from the market, but he would not.”

“And what happened to him?” Lyanna urged the other girl on when Cersei fell silent. She knew, in the back of her mind, that it would be a sinister story. But Lyanna could not contain her curiosity. “Do tell.”

“They had him captured and tied to a pole, then father decreed that he should be punished and so he was. Twenty strokes of the whip. I do not know more than that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” the septa interrupted. “Your lord father was right in that. You see, my ladies, such a man must be swiftly handled so that his example may not be imitated by other less fortunate souls who have not enough wit to keep out of trouble.”

“That is understandable,” Lyanna said. It certainly sounded like a good explanation.

“One must speak of laws no longer operating,” Septa Leonora. “Until the reign of King Jaehaerys the first of his name, it was allowed to the lord of the keep to bed each new bride of her wedding day. That was called the first night. Certainly, the tradition is distasteful.”

Lyanna shuddered. It truly sounded distasteful. In the spirit of her age, she had been taught that lying with a man was the duty of a wife. Any other sort of liaison was punishable in the eyes of the gods. And who would wish to gain the wrath of the gods?

“I have heard that the King too would have been allowed to bed the wives of his noblemen,” Cersei offered in a thrilled low voice, as if she were sharing a secret.

Appalled, Lyanna drew back slightly. “But wouldn’t that cause resentment among the noblemen?” It certainly seemed like a great risk to take, unless the king was certain no one would betray him.

“Oh certainly,” the septa approved. “Any king would know better than to do so. Now, my ladies, let us continue.”

***

Lyanna leaned slightly against Cersei as they climbed down the stairs. Myra had wanted to take Lyanna down herself, but Lyanna had insisted that Cersei do it. “If I am to have a companion then I must learn to trust her. What better way is there than this?”

The protest had slowly died away in the face of her determination. Lyanna did not wish to regret her choice, of course, nor would she give anyone reason to suspect that she might, so even if she remained unsure of Cersei’d trustworthiness, on account of an unpleasant occurrence that she had still to forget, Lyanna would not desist.

Even when Arthur offered to take Cersei’s place. “I am ever fond of your teasing and merry making, ser,” she had said, “but I fear that if we walk down these stairs together, one of us will have driven the other insane. That is no way to behave before supper.” The truth was, Arthur did enjoy teasing her a bit too much. He was, she imagined, the annoying older brother to Rhaegar’s understanding one.

So it was that Lyanna found herself on Cersei’s arm, both of them walking slowly down the stairs. One because she could not see, the other because she was so unused to such tasks. “Are there more stairs?” Lyanna asked, though she knew very well that there were no more but a score that remained. The road was familiar to her, after all, though it wasn’t so much to her new companion.

“But a few,” Cersei offered. “We should reach the bottom soon enough.” It must not have been as glamorous as she’d been promised it would be, Lyanna thought, when she detected the slight annoyance in Cersei’s voice.

As promised, Lyanna felt solid, undisturbed stone beneath her feet a few moments later. Pulling away from Cersei, so they remained linked only by their arms, Lyanna resumed a lively pace. “I wonder what we shall be having. I do hope there are lemon cakes.”

“I prefer raspberry tarts,” the other said in a light tone. “They are sweeter. Mother would sometimes order raspberry tarts for my brother and me.”

“Your brother is the same age you are, is he not?” Lyanna ventured.

“Aye, we were born one after the other, though I am older. I came first.” There was a certain pride in those words. Lyanna smiled. “Do you have brothers?”

“I have the princes,” Lyanna said with a shrug.

“Nay, I mean real brothers, blood relations.” The clarification pulled a grimace from Lyanna. “So, my lady, do you?”

“I suppose I do.” Her old wet-nurse would sometimes tell her of her family in the North, though Lyanna had thought very little on them. “My father has three more sons.” And she had never seen any of them. Lyanna sighed. “Perhaps I shall meet them one day.”

“Undoubtedly you shall,” Cersei said. “Think only of all the tourneys they could attend. Are they older than you, these brothers of yours?”

“Two of them are.” Her nurse had said that the third had come just a few hours before her. “The other is my twin.” In a way, she was very similar to Cersei.

Laughter sounded out. Lyanna recognised it as the voice of the King. It was soon joined by the lighter laughter of the Queen. It seemed like they too were having a good time. Such moods being infectious, Lyanna allowed a smile of her own to light her face. “Come, Lady Cersei. No more dawdling.”

They entered the dining hall. Once every new turn of the moon, the King and Queen took their meal in the hall, along with the lords present at court. Otherwise, supper was a quieter affair, taking place in the chambers of the Queen. Lyanna did not exactly know why the tradition went so, but she had grown accustomed to it and as such was wont to join them.

“My lady, you are finally arrived,” boomed the King from somewhere ahead. “Well, what is the reason of your lateness? Let us have it.”

With a grin of her own, for even without her sight, Lyanna could make out that the King was not in fact vexed at her, she fell into a curtsey. “The keep is a maze, Your Majesty. I fear we lost ourselves among the hallway.”

“Very well, very well,” the man laughed. “Come then, I trust you may do without your companion for some time yet.”

Lyanna nodded her head and Cersei was allowed to join her father at a lower table. Left on her own, Lyanna started walking towards where she knew the three stairs led to the dais. She climbed the stairs carefully and then was promptly placed between Rhaegar and Daeron.

“Is Lady Cersei quite as Daeron would lead us to believe?” Rhaegar whispered to her once they were no longer under scrutiny.

“Oh, how would I know?” Lyanna questioned, slowly nudging his side. “She hardly seems like the stuff of nightmares. Do you know, we have quite a few things in common. I am of the firm opinion that we should allow ourselves more time before passing judgment.”

“Ever willing to believe the best of anyone, aren’t you?” the eldest Prince teased lightly. “But you are happy, aren’t you, Lyanna?”

“As happy as I ever was,” she answered, rather confused and not at all sure why he would ask her such a thing. Rhaegar would sometimes pose such questions to her. It seemed there was a need in him to make certain she was at her very best at all times.

“That is good to hear.” His hand caught hers beneath the table. “I must speak to you.” Those words were spoken in such a low tone that Lyanna had to strains to catch it over the din of the hall. But catch it she did.

“What about?” Her natural curiosity asserted itself once more. But Rhaegar would tell her no more. “Later, Lyanna. What I have to say is only for your ears.”

Shrugging gently, Lyanna could but give a nod and return her attention to the food and Daeron’s insistence that she try the mutton. The boy had been allowed to come down and dine with the members of the court for some reason. Lyanna suspected that Rhaegar had has something to do with it.


	12. xii. Ned II

It would be her ninth nameday soon. Ned pulled on his steed’s reins and the beast shook its head. Clearly it did not appreciate such handling. Far from paying that any mind, Ned kept his eyes straight ahead, wondering at the object of his considerations.

Ned had not written to his father to tell him he would join Lord Arryn’s to King’s Landing in the lord’s visit, mainly because he could not account for the man’s reaction. It was much safer to keep such plans to himself and see to it that his sole living parent remain unaware for a time.

After all, who knew what sort of girl his sister would turn out to be? And he could not say for a certainty that she would welcome his presence. Lyanna Stark, for all her name might be from the house of the direwolf, was not known to him. She had been no more than a babe upon her leaving, and father had rather cruelly given her away. It would not surprise Ned overly much if she did not wish to see him. Raised among strangers, she would likely feel more at home in their midst than in the presence of an unknown brother.

Yet for all that, his desire to see her was stronger than ever. A glimpse would be quite enough, Ned told himself. He simply wished to see if she’d grown up well, if she looked like a Stark at all and if there was anything of their dear departed mother in her features. He needed to know as much. And whatever answer he would discover to these questions, at least he would have the knowledge.

His horse nickered softly and shook its head again. Ned blinked in confusion. Looking down at his hands, he saw that he’d been gripping the reins too tightly again. Had it been Brandon riding – Brandon who had been born half a horse, if rumours were to be believed – it would not have happened.

“Are you trying to kill the poor best,” Robert yelled at him, a large grin on his face. During the festivities, Robert had found himself in the middle of a brawl which had left him with a missing tooth and an bruised eye, accompanied by some scratches and bite marks. Not that Robert seemed to mind them terribly. But Ned had to admit, the look suited him.

“If I am, Baratheon, then it is none of your concern.” He had not told his friend much about Lyanna. Only that he had a sister in King’s Landing and that he hadn’t seen her in so very long that he’d almost been tempted to think her a dream. “If you’d be so kind as to stop staring,” Ned said a moment later noting with some annoyance that Robert still hadn’t taken his eyes off of him.

Robert laughed. “You’d think you’re to attend your own wedding the way you fret. Are you certain we go to see your sister and not your mistress,” he japed, not at all minding the glare his friend shot him.

It was not unheard of when it came to Robert for him to be insensitive of other’s feelings. Especially where women were concerned. Instead of giving him any sort of reply, Ned chose to dig his heels in the horse’s flanks and prompted the beast to take speed. At the head of the column was Lord Arryn and at least that man would know how to hold his silence.

For all the good that would do him.

Ned did mot need to turn around to know that Robert was following him. Still, if he ignored the man, perhaps it would be altogether better for his sanity and their friendship.

“Now don’t tell me the jest upset you,” Robert called out. “Come. Ned, ‘twas not serious.” That apology earned him a look from Ned. “Ned Stark, you don’t turn your back on me,” Baratheon yells as Ned was doing just that,

When Robert did reach him, Ned bestowed upon him a withering look. “That lady you speak of is my sister and I will hear no such words of her.” It was without cause that he grew angry, Ned knew, yet he could not stand such japes on account of a maiden of his blood. “Have a care what you speak in then future.”

For once, Robert sported a serious mien. “I meant no offence,” he excused himself. “’Twas only a jest. But I see that it was poorly done. I shan’t ever do such again.”

And with that it was quite impossible to remain upset at the man. “Very well.” Ned held out his hand and Robert grabbed his arm, a hold which he returned. “Consider it a thing of the past, as shall I.”

“If the two of you are quite done,” Lord Arryn cut in, levelling a telling glare at the both of them, “mayhap you would find it within you to quit stalling. We haven’t all year and dusk is swiftly approaching. Come, lads. No more wasted time.”

Not the least bit chagrined, Robert galloped ahead, a trail of dust rising in his wake. For his part, Ned waited for a few moments for his thoughts to settle down before he too took Robert’s way only to be challenged to a race. Quickly agreeing to participate, Ned promised to himself that he would win.

What followed was a battle of speed and wits and wills. Both young men were determined and both very much at work to win. Ned prayed his gods that he could make good use of his blood and ride like the wind, like Brandon would. His brother would have never contemplated losing and certainly not to a Southron. So Ned too hard and took flight, holding the reins of his horse tightly and advancing forwards. It took some skill to pass Robert, but when he did, nearing the end of the race, Ned swore the gods were smiling down upon him.

He had just reached the limit when from behind a cluster of shadows a figure emerged, spooking his horse. The beast reared back, rising on its hind legs. Ned let out a terrible sound of horror.

And then he was falling. His head hit the ground and he fell into a deep darkness.

***

Pain shot through every nook and cranny of his body, along covered, heavy limbs and within his bones. Ned groaned in pain. He tried to open his eyes but his lids refused to part, Obstinately, he made another attempt, then another and another. Somewhere far away voices could be heard. If only he could open his mouth and call for help.

But it was not to be. Within moments of his conscious waking second, he was dragged back into the darkness, though he fought like a madam to escape its clawing grip. It was little use and quite a difficult battle to hold. Tired and unwilling to fight anymore, Ned allowed himself to submerge deeper into the mystifying land of shadows. If it was his destiny to go there, who was he to challenge the gods?

It took little more than a few seconds for the blackness to morph around him. The wall of darkness shook and crumbled, cracking and hissing as it went down, as if in protest. Disconcerted, he tried to step back but some sort of invisible force held him within its grasp and he could but hit his back against, hiss in pain and stumble forwards.

“I have been waiting,” a voice said. Appearing from the blankness like a blur upon the night sky, a woman strode forward. Her visage and gate were familiar to him, so was her countenance. “I have been waiting for so long.”

Dumbfounded and frightened by the apparition, Ned merely held one hand up. He stretched it forward, but the figure remained where it was. A chasm appeared between them. “Mother!” Ned yelled. “Mother, I’m here.”

For a short moment tears blurred his vision. It had been years since he’d seen her. And she looked almost the same. There was something too red about her lips and once blue eyes had bled into a crimson colour that had permeated the iris as well, her skin too pale and her form too thin. It looked more like his mother had morphed herself into a weirood and indeed before he knew it, the human form twisted and contorted. A scream of pain and fright cut through the premises.

What was once a human woman, as resembling one closely, had become a tree. A magnificent tree with long, thin branched and an abundance of blood-red leaves. The white bark shone with a strange light. The face that had been carved within it held some traces of a once feminine face, but Ned could not recognise his mother, for it was not only once spirit that had shaped the face, but many.

“Is this what I am to expect?” he asked loudly, rage coursing through him. “Give me my mother back. Give her back!” But no answer came his way. Biting his lips and pacing about, Ned was losing himself. It felt like he was doing just that and the fault lay with those ghosts.

“You are here for another purpose,” a terrifying voice spoke, a thousand voices having come together in it. Ned thought he could distinguish his mother’s among them. “We must give to you a message. The will of the gods must be made known to your brethren, mortal.”

Ned could not make up his mind if the tree meant to insult him or not. But his mind would not cooperate and he found himself answering. “And what is the will of the gods?” He had not wanted to aid them, not in anything.

It was his mother that he wanted back, the woman father sometimes mentioned tenderly, with melancholy and grief. It was his mother that he wanted to see, not the gods. Yet mortals seldom had such choices when it came to the matters ordained by the divine creatures.

“Listen and listen well, if you do not wish the wrath of the ancient to come down upon you,” the voices again spoke as one. There was something so powerful about the mere presence that Ned found himself, even unwilling, drawn in. “There is peril to come. A great danger awaits you all. And if you should fail in the task appointed to you, then all could be lost.”

“What task?” Ned did not wish to her a riddles and go insane trying to solve them. “What do you speak of? You muddle the meaning.”

“The meaning is clear,” the weirwood contradicted. “You must guard the crowned rose that has sprung from stone and guard yourself against the false, or else you and your brethren will meet an end so terrible for nothing; no one shall remember you after, for no one will be left to do so. The choice is your.”

“What choice?” The gods were mocking him, Ned was certain of that much. They wished to test him. They were bored and thought to play tricks on him. “I do not understand.”

The limbs of the weirwood drew within, and the tree crumbled, twisted and turned until it had once again assumed the form a half-remembered woman. His mother stood before him with a cool gaze and lips thinned and blood-red.

“You must do this, my son. You must.” The chasm between them persisted. “Protect her and the answers shall come. You will understand one day.”

But he did not want to wait for that one day. “Mother, stay,” he pleaded. “Or take me with you.” He had missed her terribly.

She laughed, tinkling and sweet, but chilling at the same time. “Oh, my sweet child, I cannot take you with me. The road I travel is one without return. Not yet, my son. Not yet. But one day, I promise to you that I shall come.”

“One day soon?” he asked. His hand shot out for her, as if to catch even a spark of her glimmer.

“Aye, but not too soon.” He sketched him a bow. “Do not forget, my son. You must protect her.”

And with that, the darkness came swirling in from all sides, latching onto him. Ned attempted to pull away, to dislodge it. The last hew saw of his mother was a fading skeletal figure. He would have wished to ask her so much. But he could not, for he was swept away, not to return again as long as life yet lingered within his veins.

When he came to, the wrinkled face of a maester loomed before him. “Ah, boy. You are finally awake, We feared we had lost you.” Groggily, Ned tried to give an explanation. But he was stopped by a shake of the maester’s head. “Say nothing, but drink of this.”

***

A small cart had been procured for him and the maester had insisted that for the time being Ned ride in that. Lord Arryn had agreed to it, saying that he deserved some rest and he could not achieve that if he rode one of those blasted beasts. “It nearly you a crushed skull, Ned. I will hear no more of it before you are well and ready.”

And that would take quite some time. It seemed that during his fall, one of his legs remained caught in the stirrup and the horse, spooked as it had been, managed to drag him after for a short period. The maester had been amazed, frankly, that he had survived. For his part, Ned was certain that it had been his mother to keep him alive and for that he thanked her. Though to find himself riding in a cart was not how he would have envisioned his journey to find his sister.

Robert rode beside him, his face a little pale. “I truly do regret it, Ned. I shouldn’t have challenged you to that blasted race.” That had been a tune Robert had been singing for some days. In the end, even Ned could take not more of it, patient as he was.

“Enough of that, Robert. Besides, I won.” The knowledge helped him endure the humiliation of his current condition in a small measure. It was all he had to cling to anyway. “I will hear no more of it. I truly mean these words. Is there nothing else we might speak of?”

“But of course there is,” Robert answered. “We are nearing our destination. You have been insensible for a few days, so you would not know our progress, but old Arryn says that if the weather holds, then we shall make it to King’s Landing in five days more at the rate we are going.”

“So few days?” Ned wondered out loud. He had known he’d slept through quite a bit of the journey, but it came as a great surprise that they truly were so close. “I can hardly believe it.”

“We are of the same mind. But just you think Ned, we shall soon be in King’s Landing. I’ve heard that the court is full of beautiful women.” It was so very like Robert to be thinking of that. “We might even get to see the King himself.”

The Targaryens and the Baratheons were closely related. A recent marriage between their houses, but two generations past, had made it so. But to Ned’s knowledge the King and Queen were not particularly close to their Baratheon relations. Which in itself was not very strange as most relations were not very close. Ned had to but think of his aunt, Branda Stark, whom he’d not seen once in his life, but knew of from his mother’s tales, though she yet lived with her lord husband somewhere in the South. Such was the existence mapped out for lord and ladies and their offspring.

“If the King will see us,” Ned ventured. But perhaps he would; mayhap Lyanna would convince him of it, if indeed she would see her brother.

“I say he will, Ned,” insisted Robert. “In her last letter, mother wrote to me that Lord Lannister was to bring his daughter to court. Have you ever heard of Cersei Lannister, my friend?”

Of course he had. Ned gave Robert a mildly disinterested look. Cersei Lannister was the very beautiful sole daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister. It was said that even the beautiful Shiera Seastar was a mere kitchen drab beside her. And Robert would, of course, know that already. Robert’s mother, Lady Casanna, formerly of House Estermont, was ever trying to find her son a fitting bride, when she should have, in fact, been trying to keep him out from between every female’s legs he met.

Still, that being said, Ned had to acknowledge that he did recognise an opportunity within his friend’s words. “I thought she was still but a girl,” he said none the less. If his memory did not fail, Lady Cersei had been born at a time with her brother, Jaime Lannister. And Jaime was barely older than Lyanna would be, thus Cersei too.

“Girls grow with time,” his friend offered with a small shrug. “Besides, I said nothing of wedding her upon sight.” That he hadn’t. Ned nodded his head in approval. “Who knows, perhaps it is you that shall find her more appealing.” And there he was, again with the teasing.

“If I do, Robert, you shall be the first to know, I am certain.” Such a reply stopped Robert momentarily. He threw Ned an odd look. “Is there anything else beside women to speak of in King’s Landing?”

“There is always the Kingsguard, though knights that they are, I am very much certain that the ladies are far lovelier and less dangerous.” Both of them laughed at that, falling into the easy pattern of their friendship.

“So you say now, Robert, but mind that you don’t provoke the wrong lady,” Ned warned jokingly. Still, the danger existed. Robert thought a smile would get him out of any scrape so long as the recipient was a woman. He had yet to learn the most important lesson about responsibility, which was that responsibility was to be taken for one’s actions. Yet there was time enough for that.

One of Lord Arryn’s men threw them a suspicious look. “They think we are plotting,” Robert commented with a smirk on his face. His eyes shone with a mischievous light. “I fear old Arryn had not quite forgiven us for disrespecting the cook’s stew.”

That particular stew had ended upon the clothing and persons of many a man in the fight Robert had begun. It was always entertaining to keep close to his friend. Ned laughed. “Do you think they shall risk giving us stew again?” He had been a willing participant in that battle.

“One can only hope,” Robert feigned sobriety, placing a hand upon his chest. “If not, we can always make do with black bread and hard cheese.” That had been all they’d been given, on account of said disrespect. “I am telling, Ned, a war could be won with those.”

“Far be it from me to doubt you,” Ned replied. But certainly, the bread and cheese were hard enough to act as rocks. “We should suggest such to His Majesty.”

“That we should,” Robert agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	13. xiii. Rhaegar IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems that writing is my own brand of heroine. I did try to keep my hands off the keyboard, but it seems I am utterly incapable of doing that.
> 
> Therefore, while I don't know when I'll be returning full-time to writing (though I'm sure that it'll be sooner than I had anticipated), you'll have to do with updates from this one story, until I can get everything else in order.
> 
> Thank you for putting up with me, I guess.
> 
> Happy reading.

Her face fell as the news made itself understood to her. “But I–,” she breathed out. “Nay. I do not want it to be so.” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. Her lower lip trembled and her sightless gaze burned, its heat crawling over his skin. Rhaegar looked at her, not having expected such a reaction.

Lyanna was usually mild, calm and understanding beyond her years. Not knowing what to do to restore her peaceful state, he sat down next to her and put an arm around her. “Lyanna, it is necessary.” But her posture spoke again of rejection even if she did not voice it. “The King shall command it. I simply wanted you to know beforehand.”

“Why?” she questioned. “I do not want her here.” The insistence brought around the thought that for all her apparent maturity she was in fact a little girl. A child who depended on him to protect her. Rhaegar experience a twinge of disappointment, but he buried it underneath a wave of compassion. Danger was not something Lyanna relished. Naturally she would shy away from it.

But she would learn, he was certain that she would. There would come a time when his protection would not be enough. Not even the King could ensure that no ill would touch her, if Lyanna herself did not learn the value of protecting herself. He took her hand in his and pressed it gently between his. He wondered what he should say to her. “I do not want her here either,” he replied to her earlier statement, “but it must be so. We need to keep Dorne close for the time being, Lyanna.” Her other hand came upon his, fingers curling with surprising power, nails digging into his skin to the point where the sting of pain made itself felt.

“But she tried to take you from us. She tried to steal you away from me.” Those words made him freeze. Upon his return he had told Lyanna that one day the two of them would be together. She had seemed undisturbed about it, more so, she had been joyful. In that Rhaegar had seen an expression of love, a child’s love for an older sibling perhaps. He had not thought she would understand the concept behind what he had said to her merely because at her age it had proved a not very interesting topic.    

How much of it was actual understanding and how much was the fancy of a child, Rhaegar could not say. But Lyanna was holding on to him, looking up with her strange, mesmerising gaze, as if in wait for an answer. His heart thumped loudly. There was always something quite out of the ordinary when she looked at him thus. The feeling was not as much uncomfortable for its intensity as for its unknown quality. Lyanna looked at him as if, despite her lack of sight, she could see very well within him. It was as if she knew what no other living soul did.

“Try as they might, Lyanna, I would never abandon you.” The finality of his answer produced a smile on the girl’s lips. She took it for a promise, he was given to understand. And it was a vow he took willingly. “Do you remember what I told you when I cam back from Dorne?”

“Aye,” she said. “You spoke of the prophecy.” The prophecy of a dragon prince who would he the saviour of them all. Rhaegar smoothed back a strand of hair that fell forward as Lyanna leaned in slightly. “The prince that was promised,” she whispered softly.

“The prince that was promised,” Rhaegar repeated. “And he will be ours Lyanna. There. That is your guarantee that I shall never leave.”

Her brow furrowed. “A child?” she questioned. It seemed that the thought was a strange one for her. Rhaegar worried that he had perhaps put too much pressure on her. But it seemed that Lyanna worried for another matter altogether. Yet she would not voice it.

“Lyanna, what is wrong?” he questioned, hoping that she might give him an answer of sorts. But the girl shook her head and bit down on her lips in a thoughtful manner. “Lyanna.”

“Nothing. ‘Tis nothing at all. A silly thought is all.” She slid forward and off her seat. “I am tired, Your Grace. May I retire?”

Of course it hadn’t been nothing. Rhaegar watched her for a few moments, silence lingering between them. Whatever she had thought of, it was clearly disturbing. But knowing her as he did, Rhaegar was aware that Lyanna matched all Targaryens she lived with in stubbornness. If she did not wish to speak of her thought then she would not. And when she did, she would tell him. Far from being a thoughtless, immature girl, Lyanna was in fact capable of rationalising perfectly well. It was a trait Rhaegar wondered where she had received from. So few people seemed to possess it.

But of course, as far as he was concerned, no one could quite match up to Lyanna and the hopes he’d built around her.

“Vey well, Lyanna. Arthur shall take you to your bedchamber. He walked with her to the door and opened in. Indeed, Arthur stood on the other side, waiting for Lyanna.

He gave Rhaegar a bow followed by a small nod at a questioning glance of the Prince’s face. “See Lady Lyanna safely to her chambers,” Rhaegar ordered calmly, at peace knowing that all was secure for the time being. The decision that had been reached concerning Dorne, he liked as little as Lyanna. But it was necessary and he would see it through.      

Lyanna’s face turned to face his general direction. “A good night to you, Your Grace,” she said by way of parting.

“A good night to you too, Lady Lyanna,” Rhaegar offered. He ten stood in the doorway, watching her walk away, Arthur at her side.

Jonothor Darry, the Kingsguard posted at his own door, did not so much as blink. Thankful for the silence and the time given to him to further contemplate matters, Rhaegar left the dimly lit hallway to its loneliness and returned to his chambers.

He sat down of the bed and thought of whose advice he should ask.

***

Aerys Targaryen was, for the most part, a reliable man. By no means was he perfect. Rhaegar was very much aware of that. But that did not make the advice he gave less valuable. And it was for that reason that the Prince determined it would be best to ask his father what he ought to do about the situation he found himself in.

Faced with the King, he was however hesitant. Seeming to sense his son’s uncertainty, the father leaned back in his chair. “What is it, boy? Has all courage deserted you?” A small twist of lips revealed humour. “Come, Rhaegar, surely you do not mean to stare at me for the rest of the day.”

“Indeed, I do not,” Rhaegar replied. “Perhaps it is better if we were to put Elia into the Queen’s service. I would hesitate to leave Lyanna caught between her and Cersei Lannister.”

“And insult the Martells?” the King questioned. “You are aware of the reason for which this move is necessary. Lyanna is under our protection. Pycelle shall make sure that she is hale and hearty. You needn’t worry for her.”

Under their protection she might be, but the court was a treacherous place. It afforded little to not constancy in its safety and virtually no guarantee of survival. As for Pycelle, the man was skilled enough, but that did not mean he was just as loyal. The old Grand Maester was likely to have his own sympathies. And that worried Rhaegar. “Father, we need someone who is loyal not to House Targaryen and the crown in this. We need someone loyal to Lyanna.”

“Then Lyanna shall have to gain the loyalty of someone,” Aerys countered. “Loyalty is not bought, nor instilled by way of threat.” He did however stop to consider the matter before he spoke more on it. “I reckon you have already thought of someone if you come to me with this.”

“So I have,” the Prince admitted. He was not certain it would work, but it would not stop him from trying. “There are few bonds stronger than blood ties. Lyanna has brothers, one of which is a twin to her. If we could bring one of her brothers here, then she should be safe.”

“You speak as if brothers have not been known to squabble over power.” A good point by all accounts. Rhaegar waited for what was to follow. “What our Lyanna needs cannot be found amongst kin, court or powerful houses.”

“So they have, but I would worry more if Lyanna had sisters.” Even if one of her brothers did take it into his head to amass power and wealth, his status would remain the same. The highest office open to those of blood not royal was that of Hand of the King. “For the time being a brother will have to do until we can find someone better suited.”

“If that is your wish, then it shall be done so. Rhaegar, I have not intervened between you and Lyanna solely because it is your own duty to protect her. She will be your wife and your Queen when the time for it comes.” And so the burden of responsibility was firmly pressed upon his shoulders. “I trust you to do right by her.”

It was frightening to be given so much power over the life of someone else, even of it was indirectly. A wrong choice of his could bring harm to Lyanna. And yet it was impossible to place her first and foremost among his priorities. The Queen she would be had to become a Princess first, learn the burden of her station and the weight of her ruling before she could do so in truth. And thus it was that despite his wish that no harm come to her in any form, Rhaegar could not protect her against every blow that would be thrown her way. She would resent him if he did, anyway.

“How can I do right by her and by the realm at the same time?” he asked. “If it comes to a choice, what do I choose?”

“That is for your own conscience to answer, my son.” The King stood up. “Every person must make choices, and it is seldom a choice between right and wrong that they are given. Those are easy choices, ones in which one’s conscience knows what to pick. However, when you must choose between two rights, that is when the true battle is given. And in that you are alone.”

Alone, Rhaegar considered. Indeed, it seemed to hold that he would be alone. His choices were after all his own and he was accountable for them, no matter if he had made them under the influence of another person. “So I am given to understand,” he said in the end. “That was all I wished to ask of you, father. I shall retire.”

Aerys nodded. He did however stop Rhaegar just after he had gotten out of his seat. “A moment,” the King demanded. He walked around the desk and came to stand before his son. “Am I to understand that Lyanna was not at all pleased that she will be gaining a new companion?” There was something arch, almost amused in the way Aerys spoke.

“She was less than pleased about the news,” Rhaegar offered. There was little reason in reporting to his father what he had spoken with Lyanna.

“You will learn soon enough that women are no less possessive of what is theirs than men,” the King spoke in a sage manner. “And though she is yet not a woman, she is not at all far from becoming one, our Lyanna. My advice is to allow your mother to speak to Lyanna.”

How had his father known? Rhaegar’s confusion must have been apparent for the King merely laughed and waved him away.

“Go now,” the man spoke. “And speak of this no more to Lyanna. It shan’t serve your cause to ask of her what makes her ill at ease.”        

And go he did, for there was little else to be done. If indeed his own mother could make to Lyanna understood the need of her cooperation then she was the one to speak to. So, gathering his wits about him, Rhaegar prepared to make for the nursery where no doubt his mother was, surrounded by her three younger sons and their harried caretakers.

Walking outside of his father’s solar, Rhaegar felt dread churn in his stomach. He did not, however, pay it much mind, given that there was little reason for worry yet.

***

Prayers were sometimes answered. That was the conclusion the eldest of the King’s sons came to on the day that Lord Arryn presented himself before the King, joined by his two wards. The one who caught Rhaegar’s attention was none other than Eddard Stark, brother of Lyanna. They hadn’t even needed to write to Lord Stark. It was indeed as if the gods had led the boy, for indeed he was little more than a boy, straight to them.

Staring silently at the three mingled with the rest of the noblemen, all of them waiting for the King and his Lord Hand. It was clear from the way both of the young men looked around that it not what their considered a usual image that of such a gathering. Rhaegar hid his amusement behind the closed mask of the cold prince. Eddard Stark finally chanced to look upon him. Rhaegar inclined his head in a sign of recognition and the other’s eyes wondered.

Lord Arryn finally turned towards Eddard. They exchanged a few words before Lord Arryn bowed to him and strode forward, followed by Eddard and close behind them Robert Baratheon. The last time Rhaegar had seen Robert, he’d been a mere babe at the breast of his mother. Time, however, had changed him drastically. A tall youth, heavy-built and clearly of some strength, he was nearly of a height with Rhaegar himself. A strange thing, to see the changes in some and for them to be so drastic.

Yet Rhaegar was more interested in Eddard Stark. He gave no further thought to Robert, beyond acknowledging him with a curt nod, which the Baratheon heir returned belatedly.

“Your Grace,” Lord Arryn spoke in greeting. The head of House Arryn, Jon, was a lord of integrity, honour and little political involvement. His presence at court was a bit of a surprise to be fair. “The King shall come himself to the throne room on this day, do you know?”

“Indeed he shall, my lord,” Rhaegar replied before long. He looked from Robert to Eddard.

Lord Arryn, seeming to understand the silent request, hurried to name his wards. “You know Robert Baratheon, I am sure, for the two of you are kin. And this,” he said of the other one, “is Eddard Stark, second son of Lord Stark of Winterfell.”

“I believe I am well acquainted with your sister, Eddard Stark,” Rhaegar spoke, more to gauge the boy’s reaction than anything else. He perceived a glimmer on interest in the grey gaze so very similar to Lyanna’s. And a look of wonder crossed Robert’s features.

“Lyanna Stark you mean, Your Grace?” Robert asked.

“I am not aware of Lord Stark having fathered another daughter,” came his seemingly innocent answer. Robert, of course, was obvious to what he’d meant. But Eddard understood it well enough and Lord Arryn looked at the oldest of his wards.

“Your Grace,” Eddard finally spoke, “if it is at all possible, may I see my sister?” The request was understandable, but importantly, it proved something to him about the boy. Blood ties mattered, at least for the young wolf that had entered the lair of dragons.

“That can be arranged,” he answered. Normally, when one wished to obtain permission to step within Maegor’s Holdfast, his request could only be addressed by the King. But the King had already agreed to the idea of it, so Rhaegar took the liberty of making the allowance himself. “If, of course, Lord Arryn can spare you.”

“Of course, Your Grace. The boy should see his sister.” That approval given, Lord Arryn bowed out slowly.

“When the King leaves, come to me, Eddard Stark and you shall see your sister.” His words produced a look of gratefulness on the boy’s face. Robert, on the other hand, looked rather disappointed. It only then occurred to Rhaegar that perhaps he too had wished to see Lyanna. After all, who was to say that Eddard had not spoken of her to a close companion?

That could be easily resolved. Yet it would have to wait, for the King made him way through the doors, followed by Tywin Lannister and the three members of the Kingsguard. He strode towards the throne and climbed the stairs quickly, as if in a hurry. Rhaegar took his seat at the foot of the stairs and waited for requests and complaints alike to commence.

The first to come forward was a certain Lord of Duskendale. Denys Darklyn stepped away from the crowd of noblemen, the beginning of a request on his lips. “Your Majesty,” Lord Tywin began speaking before the man could, “Lord Darklyn wishes to wed a certain Serala of Myr who sought shelter in his home no more than three years ago.”

Rhaegar watched the young lord, he could not be much older than he. A lady of Myr for a wife was not at all what Westerosi noblemen were expected to take. If anything, some would not agree to such a choice at all. Thankfully for the young man, Aerys Targaryen was not too concerned with the whispers that broke out among the crowd.

“Lord Darklyn,” he began, “there is no law preventing you from wedding the lady, provided that she herself is not wedded to another at the same time.” The courtiers laughed, cutting off his speech. Aerys held a hand up. “My words hold, Lord Darklyn. Take her for your bride if that is your will.”

The hearing went on with many other cases that seemingly required the King’s attention. Soon enough, however, the king grew bored. Such was his father’s way, Rhaegar knew. He left to his Hand the business of seeing to the other troubles and climbed down the stairs.

Glancing around for the Stark boy, Rhaegar motioned his over as the King stopped a moment to confer with Lord Lannister. Eddard nodded towards his companions and then broke away from them to come closer to Rhaegar.

“Am I truly to see my sister?” the boy asked. Another person might have found the question strange at not a little insulting. But Rhaegar, knowing where it stemmed from, contented himse4lf with a nod towards the boy.

“I am a man of my words,” he said a few moments later, “Come now, we shall leave with the King.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah well, now big mystery has been resolved.
> 
> Kudos to those of you who understood what was heavily implied in the last part of the chapter. 
> 
> Thoughts, anyone?


	14. xiv. Cersei I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand...Cersei POV
> 
> Well, I hope you enjoy the foray into her twisted little dark thoughts.

Cersei glared with contempt at the beast that found its way into the room. The dog looked at her with dark round eyes, waging his tail in a gentle manner, hobbling on three feet to the unsuspecting Lyanna, who was listening to an exciting story of Daeron’s. The boy’s bravery was frequently praised by the sister-figure.

Sixpence, the odious creature, placed its mangy head on Lyanna’s white dress. Cersei nearly vaulted out of her seat. It was such a pity that a nice creation such as the one the Stark girl had been given to wear was to be destroyed without much thought by a flea-ridden mongrel.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she interrupted the storytelling, ”but is it necessary for the beast to plague this room?” She nodded towards the dog, who gave a low whine. “It’s dirty and quite dangerous. These hounds always are.”

“Oh no,” Lyanna countered softly, a smile playing on her lips, “Sixpence is not at all dangerous. He is such a loyal and loving friend. Perhaps you have not had the opportunity of befriending such a noble beast.” The blind girl had the audacity to pet the dog’s head and the hulking creature did no more but yawn and allow its tongue to loll.

“I only fear that it would cause you harm,” Cersei insisted. Her father had insisted that she was to befriend the Stark girl and make the most of her acquaintance. And though Lyanna was a gentle enough soul and not adverse to Cersei, she was not, for that matter, very close to cultivating her friendship. Lyanna and her were very different, not only in appearance and upbringing, one might add.

“I know,” the other offered,” her empty gaze sliding towards the Lannister maiden. “It is commendable of you, Lady Cersei, but I assure you I am in no danger whatsoever. Perhaps if you would know Sixpence better.” The suggestion was followed by a log silence. It stretched out between them, lying in wait for a response.

Cersei breathed in deeply. She had to do her duty. She could not disappoint her father. She had to find out why the King and Queen kept Lyanna Stark so very close, yet not once mentioning what plans they had for her. For the Queen seemed to no longer be conceiving. It had little sense that they would keep Lyanna with them, unless they planned to wed her to one of the Princes.

Father was certain they had intended her for Daeron, as the boy was often encouraged to keep company with the blind child. For her part, Cersei knew not what to think, as all the Targaryen brothers seemed fond of Lyanna, even the babe of the lot.

Stepping towards Lyanna and Sixpence gingerly as if every step hurt. Her hand shot out, fingers slightly curled inward. A small tremor shook her limb. Cersei gulped. The parasite looked up at her with wet eyes, the gaze almost trusting. Holding in a scowl, Cersei touched the top of its head. She shuddered and pulled her hand back. “There, I am not afraid of it.”

Daeron was watching with a menacing glare that Cersei hadn’t been aware a child could produce. She scowled at him on account of the fact that Lyanna would never be able to tell. The boy snarled at her and that was when Lyanna intervened.

“Your Grace, please.” She placed a hand upon the younger child’s and squeezed it. “The King shall return soon and so will your older brother. Until then, do go on with the story.”

“Well, Ser Jon Darry wanted to chase the man but Ser Whent said it would not help matters. Ser Gwayne Gaunt was laughing the whole time. He found the incident very amusing.”

“They should have caught the man and flayed him,” Cersei could not help saying. “He was a thief.” Her father would have not stood for it. But apparently in King’s Landing ruler were lax, lax enough for a thief to get away with stealing.

“It was merely an apple, Lady Cersei. I daresay he needed it more than the vendor.” At that Cersei had to shake her head. Lyanna, as if sensing it, offered a small smile and continued. “He was hungry. And it was but an apple. What did you do, Daeron.”

“I paid for two apples,” came the reply of the boy. “It was only an apple.”

“But that is condoning thievery.” It was bad enough that they had allowed the man to escape justice, but to pay for him as well; it was preposterous.

“Sometimes we have to be forgiving. It is not always required of us to push other in the mud. Come now, enough of that. I daresay it would be better if we moved to another subject entirely.” If there was one thing that Cersei had learned during her stay with Lyanna was that, despite her calm appearance and usually tranquil replies, the she-wolf actually did have a temper. She just hid it well. Commendable, of course, but not at all effective on Cersei.

She could understand from the other’s posture that something had made her close off. It was, of course, another characteristic of the girl’s. She was easily upset, though just as quick to forgive transgressions. Her avoidance of confrontation attested to her having been raised in court where no matter was settled in a straightforward manner. She had the making of a good courtier and within proper context, it was not unlikely that she could gain much power.

Still, all these observations had been made before by her father. Cersei had yet to find Lyanna’s purpose and she struggled to keep herself within the girl’s circle of favourites. If only she had been born a male, just like Jaime, then she could have been doing something fruitful, something other than sitting around and listening to the bleating of two foolish children with strange notions of forgiveness in their minds.

But she hadn’t been born a man. And as such she could do little else but follow the path her father had assigned to her. Just until the day she would be queen, Cersei promised herself. After, she would listen to no one but herself. The promised burned pleasantly in her mind, warming her to the marrow of her bones. A queen she would be.

***

The King entered the room, followed by his oldest son. The entrance, far from impression Daeron with its stateliness, prompted the boy to merely slide off his chair and run towards his father. This in turn made Aerys slight annoyed with the child, on account of the fact that as a prince he should not be displaying such obvious adoration.

“Run along now,” Aerys told his younger son, but not before caressing the boy’s tumbling curls. “I am certain they wait upon you in the courtyard.”

Another thing that she could not do, Cersei thought with no little amount of resentment, as she watched the child excitedly run out the door, was train in the courtyard. She understood, of course, the reason for which no one would ever put a sword into Lyanna Stark’s hand, as the girl was just as likely to slay herself with it as she was to hit an enemy. But Cersei had no such problem. Yet no one would aid he in learning. Not even Jaime. He would laugh lightly whenever she asked it of him and promise that he would always protect her, so she wouldn’t have to learn anyway.

But bitterness gave way to curiosity as another figure made its way in. The young man that came in was a few years older than her, but there was something unmistakable about his long face, much too serious and scared. There was unmistakable fear about his eyes. Cersei raised her own gaze to meet his. Steely grey captured her attention. Unlike the flat colour of his sister’s eyes, a curious spark animated the stranger’s gaze. She flinched, instinctively, as he scrutinised her.

But hi gaze did not linger on her. His eyes moved towards his sister and the moment he saw her, Cersei swore that some nameless emotion filled his features. But it was overpowering and it hit her quite suddenly. So suddenly in fact that the momentum of it made her gasp for breath. The way he looked at her was as if he had finally found not only a sibling, but a part of himself. Could he be the twin Lyanna had spoken of?

Jaime and she were two faces of the same coin, they were mirror images of one another. But the boy was different from the girl. He looked older. But then why would he have such a reaction to her? Cersei watched through her lashes as Lyanna, after having curtsied properly, walked forward, stopping a moment after her sibling made his way in.

Sixpence walked in front of his mistress, sniffing curiously. Cersei could not blame him for once. She waited with baited breath for the introductions to be made. Finally, she would have something to tell to her father. The boy glanced between her and Lyanna again and then the Prince laughed, an easy sign of amusement. more to put the guest at ease than anything else, Cersei suspected.

“Now, now,” the King interrupted. “None of that. Lyanna, come here. We’ve brought someone here who wants to meet you.”

It was quite clear from the look on the blind girl’s face that she was flabbergasted. “Me?” she questioned. Of course, she knew that three persons had entered. She could tell how many persons entered, provided that their number was no large. It was a strange effect of being sightless, Cersei reckoned.

“Indeed, you,” the Prince replied to her. Cersei’s eyes were drawn to the proud, tall figure. She hid a smile by biting the inside of her cheek. He was simply wonderful. There was no other man to equal him in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond.

And someday soon, she would be his wife. Her father had promised. She took a deep breath, willing him to look at her as well. She stared, wide-eyed and lovingly, but he seemed not to feel her gaze linger. Disappointment crashed through her, yet she would not despair. Lyanna Stark had been a sister to him for many a year. Cersei having just appeared in his life would not gain the same attention. It was comforting. Instead she allowed her smile to bloom, like a pretty flower spreading its petals to the gentle rays of the sun.

“Come, don’t just stand there, boy,” the King spoke out again, distracting Cersei. “Speak.”

The guest walked past the King, approaching Lyanna slowly. Sixpence miraculously hopped away just a little. “My lady,” he began, voice cracking slightly, “my name is Eddard Stark.” Ah, but he was a blunt one. Little blind Lyanna breathed in loudly, her hand shooting forward without direction. Eddard Stark’s own hand reached out to meet hers. “I am your brother.”

“My brother,” she repeated, her own voice a bit high. Her slender shoulders shook with emotion and indeed her whole body followed suit. Finger wrapped tightly around his hand, she turned her face towards Cersei. “Look, Lady Cersei. My brother is here.”

“So he is,” Cersei offered, suddenly a bit shy as all eyes turned towards her. Embarrassment coloured her cheeks when she understood that she had been quite forgotten. “So he is, Lady Lyanna. Your brother.”

“Perhaps we should leave them for a few moments,” the Prince suggested. He was still looking at Cersei as he spoke. “Lady Lannister, if you would be so kind.” He offered her his arm. Cersei nodded her head and with a smile walked towards him.

Tall for her age, and much taller than Lyanna Stark, who despite being a mere year her junior, was of a slight built, Cersei nearly reached the level of the Prince’s shoulder. She placed her hand gently upon his arms and smiled at his dreamily. The Prince, however, had returned his eyes to Lyanna and her brother.

“Eddard Stark, bring your sister to the gardens when you no longer wish to sit in,” he said. The King was nodding his head in agreement. Come to think of it, the king had done very little but watch the scene unfold. Something unpleasant crawled into Cersei’s heart, s shadow of doubt. But she would not have it, With a decisive rebuttal to her wayward fears she turned her thoughts back to the joy that awaited her. Nay, there could not be what she thought she saw. Her eyes were deceiving her. ‘Twas all there was to it.

“Come then. Let us depart.” So spoke the King and they turned towards the door. “Sixpence,” His Majesty called after the three-legged creature, “you too.” The dog’s ears flattened and he gave a low whine. He was however called again and he bounded away as had been demanded of him.

***

She had not managed to obtain any information from the Prince. Cersei sat on the edge of the bed in her father’s bedchamber. It was no less than her duty to visit her parent when she could and given that she had been released from her duties to Lyanna for some time, she thought she would speak to her father. He was, however, not n his rooms, though the guards had admitted her in without blinking an eye.

Apparently, the Hand of the king was detained by business. The servant she had sent with word of her arrival returned with the answer that she was to wait upon her father’s pleasure until he could come and converse with her. Given no other instruction, Cersei had gone into the bedchamber and remained waiting.

Soon enough, footsteps in the hallway alerted her to the presence of another. The door opened with a low sound and in came a heedful of shining golden tresses and a face similar to her own. Jaime smiled at her from the doorway, his grin at once full of hope and desire. He entered the room and closed the door softly behind him.

“I’ve been wondering when you would come,” he breathed out silently. “Father has been waiting and wondering too.” Those words produced a smile on her own face. At last, her father saw her value. “I’ve missed you, sister.”

Cersei beckoned him over. “And I have missed you.” Jaime sat next to her on the edge of the bed. She leaned against him, her head meeting his shoulder. He was about her height, both of them lean and golden. If it were Rhaegar, the shoulders would be wider, the voice deeper. But it was her brother, her sweet Jaime. “You cannot know how much I’ve missed you.”

“Is Lady Lyanna that bad?” he japed. Jaime has seem the blind girl just once and it had been in the throne room, at the side of Prince Daeron who has, for some reason incomprehensible to Cersei, been allowed to observe the proceedings. “I wouldn’t have said. Such a small thing, she is.” Her brother looked down at his hands and Cersei followed his gaze. “I could probably lift her up with one hand only.”

“She’s a fool, that one,” Cersei countered. “But she is the Queen’s pet. Some say that she is a sorceress, you know. They say she healed all the King’s sons born after Prince Rhaegar.” Odd, that bit of information. What did the other matter? They would not be ascending to the throne. If anything, it was Rhaegar they needed to care most for.

“Sorcery? I doubt that,” Jaime laughed. “But she doesn’t matter anyway.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. “She is no match for you, my dear sister. And when the Queen tires of her, they shall send her back to the frozen lands she came from.”

Rewarding him with a kiss of her own, Cersei caught his face between her hands and slid her lips to his. She did not close her eyes as he did. She wanted to see him. It was like looking into a mirror. She loved it. She loved that about them. They broke apart for breath a few moments after.

“I love you,” she told him, threading her fingers through his in a loving manner. Words of love were spoken seldom between them and only when they were sure no one heard them. It was only safe if they did it so. The last time they’d been caught, by their mother no less, they had been separated until her death.

“And I love you as well,” Jaime returned her confession. His arms came around her, pulling her further into him. “I love you more than anyone else.”

“I know.” And he would do anything for her. But that was Jaime. She knew she could always count on him. It was comforting knowing she had his undivided loyalty. Nothing could ever come between them. They had been born together, he following her into life as he would follow her into death if need be. “Have you no idea when father is returning?”

“Nay, I know not.” His response was swiftly brushed away in favour of curious lips meeting once again in a game they knew all too well. Cersei felt him shift his position and her body followed his retreating form.

“Running away from me, are you, brother?” she laughed. From outside a ray of sunshine slashed into the room, falling on his face. He laughed at her words and shook his head. “I say you are,” she challenged.”

“I am not,” he insisted and lunged for her. Nimble, Cersei escaped him. She was retreating and he was following. They nearly tumbled over the edge but Jaime caught her in time and pulled her up. “Careful,” he warned.

Cersei nodded. But she was more amused than anything else. And she trusted him. “I always am,” she answered. Her arms wound around him and pulled him down. “I hope father stays away until the morrow comes.” But that was not to be. They both knew it. Still, until they heard footsteps from the hallway they could well play some more.

“We should tell him to return us to the Rock.” The suggestion made Cersei shake her head. “Why not? We could be together there.”

“Oh, Jaime. My foolish brother. He would not send us back to the Rock.” She sighed deeply. “And he will not allow us to be together. But I shall find a way. I promise.”

But the sincerity of the moment was lost in peals of laughter. All of Cersei’s protests were met with the insistence of her brother. By the end of it they were both laughing, two lion cubs playing in the sun. There could be nothing better than that. And Cersei promised herself that she would never lose the feeling.

But then another arrival was signalled by sounds coming from behind the door. She broke away from Jaime and pushed him a bit away. Thankfully, they had enough time to straighten their clothing before Tywin Lannister made his way into the dimly lit room.

“I find you together, I see.” His eyes fell upon them disapprovingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes. I'm pure evil. I know. Poor Cersei just can't win.
> 
> Ah well...
> 
> That aside, thank you everyone for the lovely comments and the many, many kudos. You're all great. :)


	15. xv. Aerys II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aerys again, catching up on what the realm has been up to and surprises.

Mottled light lit the inside of the room. The candles burned and silence dominated. It was broken from time to time by the sound of quill scratching on paper, a thin noise, distinctive but lacking importance nonetheless. It was so that one could tell what went on within the chamber walls.

Being the solar of the King, it could be expected that every now and again, a servant would come in bearing a message, or that a request for audience would be made. And it certainly would have been had the moon not been shining high in the sky announcing to all that the night rules supreme. Still that did not seem to dissuade Aerys Targaryen from hunching over documents and poring over petitions and letters.

A soft knock on the door broke his concentration. Aerys looked up, blinking slowly. The door opened, whoever was on the other side, presuming that they were entitled to enter without his accord. As it turned out, they were. Rhaella came in, a small smile on her face.

The door closed behind her with a silent thud and she stepped closer and closer still, the burning candle in her hand dripping wax. She stopped to arrange the candle between two other of its kind. Having discontinued his work in favour of watching his wife, Aerys only then realised how very uncomfortable he felt. His muscles protested as he shifted. Sitting in a chair all day long was not beneficial for one’s health it would appear.

Turning to face him, Rhaella’s gaze lingered on his hand which was still raised midway between parchment and inkwell. “Still writing, husband?” she asked, moving closer to him. Without hesitation, she took the quill out of his hand and placed it on the table. “It is very late.”

Aerys looked out the window at the glowing moon. “So I see,” he answered, his eyes coming to rest upon her in the next moment. “But I am not yet done.” He made to return his attention to the documents that were still strewn across his desk, however, he was stopped by Rhaella placed a hand on his cheek.

“There will be time enough for the on the morrow.” Her hand fell to his and she tugged on his sleeve gently. The playful light in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

A chuckle spilled past his lips, unintended but not unwelcome. “Ah, what is it, wife? Can you not sleep?”

She came around and he pulled her promptly on his lap. Rhaella laughed softly, hiding her face in his shoulder. “It is the strangest thing, husband. I woke up in the middle of the night and the bed was empty.”

After Jaehaerys’ birth, his visits to Rhaella’s chamber became more about companionship rather than sexual gratification, though he would never deny the opportunity and sometimes even sought it out. But Rhaella herself rarely invited him; she was more comfortable with accepting his though than she was with inciting it.

“Empty, you say?” he played along, catching a strand of hair and twisting it between his fingers.

“Aye, empty,” she assessed once more. “And I thought it very lovely.” She raised her head from his shoulder, her face before his. She leaned into his touch.

“Were you lonely?” he questioned, his other hand sliding down her back, landing on her hip and pulling her towards him.

Rhaella nodded. “Very lonely.” She brushed her lips to the corner of his mouth, but Aerys was not about to let her get away. He followed her movement and kissed her fully.

He tsked softly for her benefit more than for his. Words were a luxury for a man in his position. “You should have come to me sooner.” He kissed her again, this time deepening the expression of desire.

“I did not want to be a burden,” she whispered, shifting in his hold.

“Burden,” he repeated thoughtfully. He stood up, taking her with him. His sister’s only response was to lock her arms around his neck. “I do not mind this burden, to tell you the truth.”

“You can put me down,” Rhaella let him know as they neared the door. But he shook his head. “Aerys, I do mean it. Put me down.”

“Certainly, I shall, when we reach the bedchamber.” A flush bloomed upon her cheeks. The red contrasted with her pale skin. Aerys kissed the top of her head. “Still so shy.”

“I am not shy,” she protested in a show of indulgent childishness. Time had changed her some, but not so much that he couldn’t recognise the girl she had been so long ago.

Instead of challenging her, he hummed in agreement. She leaned over to open the door and glared at him when he strode into the hallway, still holding her in his arms. The Kingsguards did not even blink at the sight. Rhaella, however, blushed even redder than before.

“Your Majesty,” she whispered, turning her face towards his, “this is not seemly.”

“Do not fret,” he countered. “I am certain that both the good sers, despite practical knowledge on the matters, have long since known exactly how it came to be that you gave me four sons.”

That reply earned him a scowl from his wife. “Must you torment me?”

“You do not know what torment means,” he answered lightly, chuckling off the slap of her palm against his arm.

“Gods, you are the very worst.” Her insult was met with a light squeeze of her arms around her. “Aerys, someone will see.”

“Let them see, Rhaella.” The halls were abandoned more or less. It was, as she had noted, the middle of the night. Hardly anyone would be up and about. Besides, even if they did see, he would count it as a victory on his part.

He noted the relief on Rhaella’s face when they reached his bedchamber and then her confusion. “Why?” she asked. Her fingers clutched him tightly.

“We should try.” Rhaella had always insisted that Shaena had been conceived in the King’s bedchamber. “Trust me.”

“I do trust you,” she whispered softly. Aerys set her on her feet and took her hand. Together they entered the dark room, hand in hand. The least they could do was try. Or the past would bury them too.

***

Rhaegar was reading through some proposals of trade. They had been given to him to study some time ago. Aerys drummed his fingers impertinently. For some reason he found it difficult to concentrate upon the task at hand. He was however relieved of that particular task when Lord Arryn was announced.

“Send him in,” Aerys spoke loudly.

A moment later, Jon Arryn stepped inside the solar, his gave hard and solemn. Aerys found himself wondering if the man ever smiled. It was very likely that he did not. That, however, was no concern of his.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted. “Your Grace.”

“Lord Arryn,” Aerys returned while Rhaegar inclined his head. Aerys motioned for him to put away his papers. “You are wondering perhaps why you have been summoned.” The answer was in the affirmative, not unexpectedly so. “There is a matter I wish to discuss, my lord.”

Jon Arryn sat down at a nod of his head. “Your Majesty, I am your servant in anything you ask of me.” Aerys was not foolish enough to mistake his loyalty for stupidity. A thankful thing to be sure.

“That is good to know,” the King murmured. “It is Eddard Stark I wish to speak with you of.” The look of surprise of Lord Arryn’s face vanished soon enough. “Tell me, what sort is he?”

“Hardworking and fair-minded,” came the curt reply. “He does his duty the best he can and improves what needs to be improved. He has been my ward for some time now, Your Majesty, as he is almost a son to me.”

The sentiment he could understand. One would have to be made of stone not to grow attached to a child in one’s presence, the King reckoned, provided that the child was good. It was such for him, was it now? When Lyanna had first arrived in his household, he hadn’t wanted her. But then she’d grown closer and closer to him. And she was a daughter of his heart even if blood ties could be assured only by marriage.

“You are aware, I think, that Lady Lyanna Stark is the ward of House Targaryen,” Aerys spoke after a few moments of silence. “I should like, if possible, to have him stay with us for some time. You see, Lord Arryn, Lady Lyanna has seen so little of her family. Not at all, to be fair.”

“Your Majesty,” Jon started, his brow furrowing, “I should like to allow the siblings time together, yet I must return to my duties soon.”

“Indeed I am aware. Which is why, my lord, I have a request.” That silenced Lord Arryn. Aerys blinked slowly, taking his time. “If you would write to Lord Stark, so we may keep his son with us for at least a few moon turns.”

The suggestion was met with an empathic nod from the head of House Arryn. “Shall I send word now, Your Majesty?”

At least the man was smart enough to understand. Aerys pushed towards him a quill and paper.”That would be best.”

From the corner of his eye he caught Rhaegar standing up. His son‘s questioning gaze met his. Aerys nodded, a simple gesture which would carry his message across perfectly well. Seemingly to understand just what he had meant, Rhaegar walked towards the window, looking out into the distance. Returning his attention towards Lord Arryn, Aerys waited for the man to stop scribbling, which he did soon enough.

“That should do, Your Majesty. Though, if I may,” he allowed the rest of it to trail off until he received the King’s consent, “Lord Stark is not known for his prompt replies.”

“That is of no consequence.” He held his hand out for the written words. Lord Arryn gave it without delay. “Lord Stark shall reply in his own time. We, of course, do not mean to rush him. That would be all, my lord.”

As he had come so was he gone. With few words and little knowledge of what the King planned, Lord Arryn had little choice but to aid them. Aerys watched the man walk out and then called Rhaegar’s attention.

“How much time have you spent with the boy?” he questioned.

“Enough to know that Lord Arryn does not lie about his ward.“ Rhaegar moved away towards his chair. He seated himself down rather quickly. “Eddard Stark could be exactly who we need. He seems eager to know his sister.”

“Quite so,” Aerys found himself agreeing. He had not spent much time with Lyanna since her brother came, the purpose of it being to help along the bond of those two. “Let us hope it is as you say.” After all, Rickard Stark had been all to willing to give Lyanna away. Of course, one could not tell if it had been the recent loss of his wife that prompted such actions or whether he felt he had no need of a daughter, or perhaps the desire for power.

Their conversation was interrupted as another man seeking the King’s attention was announced. The Spider entered the solar with small steps and a pleasant look upon his face. Aerys demanded to know what news the Master of Whisperers had brought for him. Varys and his little birds were a necessary evil as far as he was concerned.

“Your Majesty, Your Grace,” the eunuch began, “I should like to inform you of some interesting news coming from the Stormlands. Lord and Lady Baratheon entertain some interesting notions of making an alliance with another one of the great houses. My little birds speak of letters sent to Lord Lannister, Lord Tyrell, Lord Tully and last, but not least Lord Stark.”

That was not good news. “They’ve written to the lords of the realm, you say?” That in itself was not much to fret over. When Rhaella had asked for Lyanna to be given to her, she had insinuated that at some point Lyanna would be wedded to the heir to the throne. The problem was if Tywin Lannister would accept the proposal. “What else is there?”

“There is some unrest on the lands of one Lord Draklyn. It seems that his people are not very pleased with something or another. Of course, Lord Darklyn will see to it that every issue is resoled.” The bald man stopped. He looked towards the Prince and then back to Aerys. “Work has begun for the restoration of Summerhall, Your Majesty, as per order.”

“If that is all, you may leave.” The King waited for the eunuch to go out the door. He then turned towards his son. “What do you think of this, Rhaegar?”

***

“I loathe peas,” Daeron complained, looking with contempt at the small green peas. “They are disgusting.” He pushed his plate away.

“No peas,” Aegon said and Jaehaerys echoed him. Soon enough the three of them were chanting together, united in their dislike of the green stuff. If only lords would agree with such ease upon some things, Aerys considered watching his three young sons with a certain amount of admiration mingled with annoyance.

“Enough,” Rhaella spoke loudly over the din. The three culprits froze. His wife gave them a hard stare. “You will eat every last one of those peas whether you like them or not.” Three identical pouts met her edict, but she would not allow them to escape.

“Father,” Jaehaerys tried to involve him too in the conflict, turning wide eyes upon him.

Fortunately, Aerys had learned long ago that it was best to leave children to their mothers. “Listen to your mother.”

“They are rather good,” Lyanna offered, scooping up a spoonful and eating it. She chewed and swallowed as if to demonstrate her point.

Rhaegar had no comment to offer whatsoever, which was likely better for he himself did not like peas. It seemed a recurring theme with their children that they would fuss over peas. However, the fact that there were no peas on his plate did not escape the eyes of Daeron.

“But Rhaegar is not eating peas,” the boy pointed out.

“Of course he is.” The statement was followed by a small mountain of peas landing on his plate. Rhaella smiled smugly at her three younger sons and Aerys dismissed the impulse to shake his head.

With a disgruntled sound, Rhaegar ate some peas for show, but his face showed just how thankful he was to his mother. Only Lyanna seemed oblivious to the tension around the table and was eating her food with small bites, clearly in her element. Having lost the battle, the three young Princes were left with no recourse but to swallow spoon after spoon of peas.

At another time, Aerys might have pitied their misfortune, but he found that as peas were not exactly lethal, it would serve them an important lesson to eat each and every last one of them. That and the fact that Rhaella’s shortness of temper could mean one of two things. Either she had had to deal with the boys misbehaving or she was once again with child. Out of those two armed with the knowledge that Daeron, Aegon and Jaehaerys had been uncommonly good lately, Aerys could be sure that it was the second matter which preoccupied his wife. He wondered when she would tell him. Rhaella had made it a point not to speak of a pregnancy until she was certain she did carry a child.

Aerys continued his meal silently, looking at Rhaella every now and then. She, sensing his stare, met his eyes for a few short moments at a time before looking away. If anyone noticed, they did not volunteer to say so. Not that they generally did notice. Children could be wilfully blind to some things. Which was better all around than them asking strange questions.

Finally alone after the children had left – Rhaegar to see Lyanna safely to her bedchamber, Daeron for fear of being given more peas to eat and his brother likely only in order to follow his example – Aerys could make a show of finding whatever it was that had his wife so worried.

Rhaella sat down next to him as the door closed behind the last of those that left. She looked down at her lap, silent and sullen, not even a hint of her earlier annoyance to be seen. Frankly, it was better for her to be annoyed than sullen, as far as he was concerned.

“What is the matter?” he asked after a long silence during which she did nothing but avoid his gaze. Every pregnancy was a matter of some fright to Rhaella. It was understandable. Lyanna had saved three of their children, but one could never be sure about the gifts the gods gave.

“I do not wish to speak of it now,” she replied listlessly. She leaned into him, silently asking for his support which he freely gave. It was best not to push her. “Later, I shall tell you everything later.” The promise was rewarded by a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.

“Tell me whenever you feel the need to tell me.” Her mood was such that he could not obtain details from her and as such Aerys would make do with his own suspicions, which were not very difficult to prove true.

Another matter entered his mind in that moment. Varys had been following the progress of Lord and Lady Baratheon in finding a wife for their son. Apparently, both Lords Stark and Lannister declined the alliance. Lord Tyrell had offered Janna, his oldest daughter and Lord Tully too had shown himself willing to arrange such a match between Robert Baratheon and Catelyn, one of his own daughters. All in all, it was better than Aerys had expected. Of course, if the negotiations proved fruitful, Aerys would have to pay close attention to them.

His own father had insulted House Tully once, just as his mother had done to House Tyrell. And, of course, House Baratheon had been at one point on the receiving end of the insult of a dragon prince. It mattered little that that Prince no longer lived, nor that he had lost his throne for it. Old grudges died hard.

“Now look who is worried,” Rhaella spoke, distracting him momentarily. “Do not think upon the problems of the realm any longer. Better yet, think of nothing at all.”

He laughed. “If you so desire.” Aerys knew that the thoughts would inevitably return, but he allowed Rhaella to pull him away from those matters and into her arms.

“You worry too much,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “One day it shall do you harm.” Yet some said he did not worry enough. What a strange situation.

“It takes more than that to harm me,” he said nonetheless, “do you not know that much, sister mine?” She smiled at him. “Ah, there you go once again, not believing me.”

“Oh, but I do believe you,” she disagreed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting repetitive with this, I know, but thank you all for the nice comments and the kudos, nearly a quarter of a thousand now. :)


	16. xvi. Elia I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plots and schemes and hopeless dreams...

Her uncle helped her out of the wheelhouse and onto the solid ground. Elia smiled up at him. “We are finally arrived,” she stated simply as Oberyn clambered out after her, with a sour look on his face. He was not at all pleased about having been made to join her in King’s Landing, even if it was to be for a short period of time.

“Uncle,” he greeted the Kingsguard. Elia was treated to a half-hearted glare and a grimace.

It was no fault of hers that his mood was a dark one. She regaled him with one of her own glares. Certainly they had all been a bit tense these past moon turns, yet whatever had prompted the Prince to leave them in the middle of the night, unarmed and unescorted, seemed not to have repercussions on House Martell. There was little doubt among themselves that he had somehow guessed their desire to wed him to Elia and he’d left.

But then a letter from the King had come, by which way he announced that his son would no longer be fostered by House Martell and that for the time being, he was thankful to them for their care of the Prince. That had eased some of the tension, mother being quite certain that Aerys’ volatile nature would have prompted him to act against them had he known the methods they’d employed to hold on to Rhaegar.

Even later on, another letter had come, this time from the Queen. She requested that Elia be permitted to attend court and act as companion to Lyanna Stark. Doran had been against her going, claiming that the Targaryens were plotting something with such a move. But mother had been of the opinion that they could not refuse. It would be going against the Queen’s request when they position was not entirely secure.

It was, after all, best to avoid a conflict if it could be avoided. And it would give Elia time to try once again to capture the crown Prince’s affection. Elia herself had to wonder at that. Rhaegar Targaryen had been courteous enough, polite and charming, yet he had been equally cold and disinterested.

As a woman, it seemed to her that she was only lowering herself in the eyes of a man who did not desire her if she kept pursuing him. Her mother, however, had assured her that some slights were to be endured. She was a Princess of Dorne and as such she needed only to catch an opportune moment and make it so that the Prince could not refuse her.

Dorne was the kingdom that had not been conquered. If anyone deserved to rule alongside the house of the dragon, then it was the house of the sun and spear. Unlike the cowards that had knelt before Aegon and his sisters, Dorne had held on to its freedom and autonomy. That constituted the reason for which Dorne was peerless. It would be an insult to common sense to scoff at an alliance with House Martell.

“I know that look,” Oberyn commented, distracting her from her thoughts. “Tell me, I beg of you, that you are not considering mother’s words at this moment.”

“Why should I not?” she questioned back, mildly irritated. “She does not speak an untruth, my brother, does she? If I do not believe in the greatness of my house and land then who else will?”

“It is not Dorne’s greatness I am questioning, Elia.” She gave him an odd look for the insinuation. “Rhaegar Targaryen made it clear enough that he has no desire for an alliance. I say we focus on making him pay for that insult, instead of receiving him with open,” he stopped a moment and looked at Elia, “arms.”

“I will do whatever is necessary for our house, Oberyn. You know that.” Her brother was unconcerned with anyone but himself, and as such his world narrowed down to a select number of people. Elia wanted more. What was wrong with that? She wanted what was her due.

“You know what they say about fire, do you now?” her brother asked. “Have a care how you touch the burning coal or it might sear you.”

“I think not,” she murmured under her breath. “One day you shall understand that life is more than pretty faces to bed and wine to drink and good food.”

He laughed. “I know there is more. But pretty faces, wine and food are the best life has to offer.”

For him perhaps that was true. Elia turned her head away and glanced at Uncle Lewyn. The man was pretending he did not hear their words. Yet words were just word, wind and dust and nothing more. Words hurt no one. Assured in her safety, Elia returned her attention towards Oberyn.

“Well, fret not, for mother has not banished you here. Stay with me a short while and then you may be off to whichever corner of the realm you choose.” Elia offered him a small smile.

Taking the peace offering for what it was, Oberyn gave a slow nod. “It is as you say.”

They continued to walk together, following Uncle Lewyn through the maze of bushes and greenery. The King and Queen had opted to greet them in the keep’s gardens, instead of meeting them at the gates. That was understandable on the one hand, yet it still produced a pang of dissatisfaction. Elia brushed it aside. She should not concern herself with those matters yet.

“Do you think she looks to be anything special?” she questioned, refraining from giving a name to that which worried her.

“I would be very surprised,” Oberyn chortled. “Is she not a mere child?”

“Let us hope,” she replied. For all they knew, Lyanna Stark could be a sorceress, using vile magic to keep the royal family in thrall. “Yet she does come from the North.”

Again, Oberyn merely gave a snort of disbelief. “She cam come straight out of the Trident if so she desires, I will still hold there is nothing special about her.”

As far as encouragements went, her brother was quite skilled. “There are moments when I quite love you,” she said.

“’Tis good then that I feel the same,” came his response and on they went, sister and brother, hand in hand.

***

Lyanna Stark was not at all what Elia would have expected to see. There had been rumours, of course, about healing abilities and blessed children. If one accepted that, however, they would have to wonder why the good lady did not heal her own eyes since she was capable of such miracles.

But what met her gaze was a small sightless girl, holding rather obstinately onto the Prince’s hand. She looked like a hellion, with her messy hair and rumpled skirts. Clearly, she’d been worried for nothing. The young girl bit down on her lower lip and strengthened her hold on Rhaegar’s arm. Strangely, though, instead of avoiding such contact, as he had done in Dorne, Rhaegar seemed pleased.

Elia’s smile faltered for a moment. Could it be that she had been misled into believing the impossible possible? But nay, Lyanna was just a child. It was not possible that a man would deny a woman in favour of a child. At least no man who was normal. Elia glanced shyly at the oldest of the Princes. Rhaegar was looking back at her with a strange sort of triumph in his eyes, as if to tell her that she was witnessing a victory on his.

“Come, Lyanna,” the Queen encouraged softly. “Do not be shy. Her Grace, the Princess, is to be your companion.”

At least she hadn’t been relegated to the duty of lady-in-waiting. Being a companion was bad enough in itself. Elia gaze slid to the girl who was slowly unclenching her fingers from around Rhaegar’s hand. The child raised her head upward and Elia met her cold, dead gaze. There was nothing behind those eyes, nothing but emptiness. A shudder ran down her spine.

“Your Grace,” Lyanna spoke, her voice small, soft, but faintly cold, “I am very glad you have come. Was the journey a difficult one?”

If the child expected to unbalance her, she had a thing or two to learn. Elia smiled sweetly upon those who had gathered in the gardens. “As all long journeys, it was tiring, yet I found it pleasant.”

“And His Grace?” Lyanna followed with another question.

“Marvellous, simply marvellous,” Oberyn spoke. Of course, he resented having to entertain a witless child even more than Elia would. Oberyn craved adventure and he would not find it anywhere near the skirts of a blind girl.

“I am glad,” the Queen intervened, something changing in her gaze. “We all are. Pray excuse us, holding you out in the open like this when you must be tired.” She beckoned over one of the servants. “Show Their Graces to the rooms that have been prepared for them and take care of their needs.”

“Your Majesty is very kind,” Elia stated by way of thanking the Queen. It was all protocol, of course, but it would not do to ignore it. “We are very grateful.” She curtsied carefully. “Lady Lyanna, I am hoping we shall get along together.”

“I am sure it will be so,” the child uttered, yet her face was offered no assurance of the truth of her words. She was a very strange child.

But Elia could not contemplate her longer, for soon she was walking towards her own rooms, led by a servant. As far as care went, there was nothing she could complain of. The Queen had been gracious, the King reserved but civil, Rhaegar almost joyful and the Lady Lyanna strangely icy, but not unkind.

The only matter which bothered her somewhat was that Oberyn was housed in a different part of the keep. The servant had led her to her chamber in the Maidenvault, where Ceesei Lannister, the daughter of the Hand of the king also resided.

Her mother had, of course, spoken about the Lannisters. Before the death of Lady Joanna Lannister, the two of them had been rather close and at one point had even considered wedding their children together to form an alliance between their houses. Yet the death of Lady Joanna had put a stop to those plans. Her mother had been hesitant to approach Lord Twyin with such a request when it was known by many that he aimed for an alliance with House Targaryen. At the time when the matter had been discussed, it had been Oberyn mother wished to wed to Cersei Lannister, as Elia had been deemed not ready for such.

But that was the past and what had been had been. House Martell and House Lannister had made no alliance between them and as such they had entered a sort of competition. Elia could only guess the reason for which Lord Tywin had agreed to have his daughter as the companion of the poor blind child.

Yet both Cersei Lannister and Lyanna Stark were, as she had noted, mere children.

Just as she was about to sit on the bed and relax, some knocked at her door. Elia invited whoever it was in and she was not too much astonished to see her brother enter the room.

“Is uncle not with you?” she questioned, looking over Oberyn’s shoulder.

“Nay, he has certain duties as a Kingsguard. Or so I am told,” was the reply Oberyn chose to give her.

“That tone of voice does not suit you,” Elia warned him, half-jokingly and half-serious. “I was merely curious.”

“Aye, I should think so.” He closed the door with a loud sound. Her brother strode to the bed. “You wouldn’t believe how hard of a time I had convincing that servant to let me enter the Maidenvault.”

“Brother mine, this is the Maidenvault,” she answered as if all explanations hid in a name.

“Maidenvault indeed,” he laughed.

Since they had been children, she and Oberyn had been tick as thieves. The two of them had run their mother ragged, with pranks and whatnot. They had always been the best of friend. He was perhaps the closes person to her. It came natural that it would be his opinion she sought, thus.

“What think you of Lady Lyanna now that we have seen her?” Elia invited him with a motion of her head to sit next to her.

“I think,” he began, sitting down as she had requested, “that she must be a strange creature, that one. If the poor thing was born blind, who knows what other faults she carries?”

Elia hummed in agreement. Lyanna Stark was not at fault, that was sure. The girl was merely a piece of a grander scheme, to be used as the players saw fit. “I daresay she will warm up to me in little time.”

***

She found Jaime Lannister quite by accident. Elia had been much surprised to find out that Lord Tywin had brought his son along as well. But of course the fair-haired boy did not hold her interest for long. Good-looking as the child was, Elia had found someone even more interesting.

“And you are the lady’s brother, are you not?” she asked the young man, a boy really.

“So I am,” Eddard Stark answered. “Your Grace is my sister’s companion, I understand.” He was well informed. Elia wondered if he was supposed to act as guardian of Lyanna.

“Thus it has been decreed,” she shrugged softly. “Do you know her well; your sister, I mean?”

A troubled look passed his features. Elia’s eyes widened just slightly. Yet he did offer an answer, one which put her at ease, “Not very well, I’m afraid. She and I were separated when Lyanna was but a babe.”

Despite his presence in King’s Landing then, Eddard Stark had virtually no power. If Lord Stark had sent Lyanna to the Queen when she had been but a babe, that meant that Lady Lyanna was effectively bereft of family. It mattered little what name one bore if they were left without the support of their house. And Eddard Stark was a second son.

“That is so very distressing. A babe, you say?” she pushed for further details.

“Quite so. Our mother died in childbed, not long after she’d delivered Lyanna and Benjen.” Eddard’s face took a sullen cast. Apparently that wound had not healed properly.

Taking pity, Elia allowed sincerity to touch her voice as she offered her condolences. “It is a difficult thing to lose persons one is close to.”

They spoke no further of such matters, for, even if Elia would have tried to obtain more information from Eddard, she was not to be given the chance. A young man broke away from the squires training in the yard and came striding towards them. Elia took a moment to admire his raven tresses, blue eyes and magnificent form.

“What are you doing, Stark?” he addressed her companion after giving her a shallow bow. “I train all day and you plague fair maidens?”

“You have it wrong, Baratheon,” the other replied. “I plague no one. You, on the other hand,” and the rest was silent.

Robert Baratheon, for she assumed that he was indeed that Robert Baratheon, ward of Jon Arryn, erupted into booming laughter. “Your Grace,” he spoke to her then, “shall I see to it that this lordling here finds his way back to his training.”

A faint blush coloured her cheeks. Elia smiled at the young man. He was young, much too young to consider, yet he was so very charming. “I should think that a pity. If he is to be sent away who am I to converse with?”

“Why, with me, Your Grace,” Robert answered without an ounce of hesitation. Her ploy worked well enough. “I should be honoured if you would be so kind as to join me on a ride.”

That produced a small grimace from her. “I am afraid I am an abysmal rider,” she responded. “Perhaps a walk would do.”

“It would do very well,” Robert agreed. “Stark, perhaps you should find that sister of yours, if she can he found, and join us.”

“That would be lovely,” Elia murmured. She did need to grow closer to Lyanna after all. If she could gain the girl’s trust and show to Rhaegar that choosing her would not be a mistake, Elia was willing to do so.

She had thought about these matters quite hard. Rhaegar was fond of Lyanna, that much was plain to see. And if one wanted to gain the affection of another, first they had to have some common causes and concerns. Lyanna, Elia was certain, would be easy enough to tolerate, even if she was slightly disconcerted by the girl’s behaviour.

There was also Cersei Lannister to consider. If Lord Tywin had not given up his plans to form an alliance with House Targaryen then Elia would need to somehow make it so that Cersei fell out of favour. Which in itself was not a very difficult problem to solve. And it all tied in nicely with her own desire to gain Lady Lyanna’s appreciation.

“Have you seen Lady Lyanna?” she asked of Robert a moment later, after they had started walking away from the yard.

“Aye, I have. But never for long.” He shrugged as if that did not quite matter. “She is Ned’s sister and he did present her to me, yet she is never allowed to be on her own with anyone.”

There was a certain Arthur Dayne, a guard of sorts that tailed the blind child. Elia nodded her head. Normally he would not interfere with anything, but he was forever present and that did tend to make people cautious. “She is a sweet girl, is she not?”

“Certainly,” the young man nodded. But Elia could understand that he did not much care for the subject. To appease him, she decided that a change was in order. “Tell me about your home. You do come from Storm’s End, do you not?”

“Ah, it is truly magnificent,” Robert started, puffing his chest out. Pride radiated off of him in waves as he spoke about his home. “Storm’s End is castle by the sea, thus one can always hear the song of the waves. There is a very interesting legend behind it.”

“Is there?” Elia questioned innocently. Old legends of Westeros were well and good, they were perfect in that they did not actually require much attention to be understood. “I should like to hear the story, if it is not too much to ask for.”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” he grinned at her. “I would be honoured to tell it to you.”

And so began Robert to speak to her of gods long forgotten and their misbehaving get. Elia wondered when Eddard would be arriving with his sister, if he would be arriving at all. She nodded and smiled, her attention divided between his constant flow of words and her own more pressing concerns.

But then two smaller forms made their way into her filed of vision. Elia gave her gratitude to the Seven as Lyanna came slowly towards them on the arm of her sibling.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes. I know that some of you will find this portrayal inaccurate and offensive. But, since I don't really believe that should stop me, there you have it.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter.
> 
> Vielen Dank (as the Germans say). You guys have been really supportive and I appreciate it very, very much. I'm very lucky to have such nice readers. :)


	17. xvii. Lyanna IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right well, here is the new chapter.

The days passed slowly. The birth of the realm’s forth the Prince had ensured that the Lords of the realm sent gifts, lovely and costly, celebrating the King’s luck and the Queen’s fertility. If only these gifts had been followed by good news. But unfortunately, the price the King had to pay for the loyalty of his subject took him away from his family.

Lyanna had been left in the company of her companions. As such both Lady Cersei and Princess Elia spent their days with her and she with them. Rhaegar had been left to care for the needs of King’s Landing. And the Queen, a new mother once more, had her infant to look after. That meant that Lyanna saw very little of them. How she disliked that. Especially when the birth of Viserys had left her with many a question about her place in the grand scale of it all. The Queen had promised answers, yet none had been sent forth.  

Her expression must have been somewhat grim and misplaced for Elia laughed, her voice tinkling. “Oh, Lady Lyanna, you are certainly very sure of yourself,” she noted, reminding her of the discussion they had been having, though that did not mean, in Lyanna’s experience, that she did agree.

“So I am.” Elia Martell was pleasant enough. It was with Lyanna herself that the problem lay. She would not, did not wish to, let go of the past. In her heart she had already promised herself that no transgression would be forgiven. A kinder soul would have undoubtedly found a way towards forgiveness, but Lyanna did not feel particularly charitable, neither did she think that pardon was deserved.

“Than, my lady, if you would be would be so kind answer me this,” Elia paused, presumably to add to the already existing tension, and then she said, “This creature I speak of is an odd one. its habits are unaccountable. It sings through its sides. The neck is curved, skilfully carved, and above its back it has pointed shoulders. It plays its fated part as, gracefully, it stands by the roadside, high and handsome, useful to men. What is it?”*

Leaning back in her seat, Lyanna shifted about, her mind searching for the answer. She ought not to have been so rash perhaps, yet Princess Elia seemed to think that her condition implied along with a general lack of sigh, a lack of thought also. It never failed to raise her temper. She did not need to be coddled, not did she wish for anyone’s pity.

And she would prove to anyone that she was as capable as any other maiden. “The answer, Your Grace, is simple. You speak of a harp,” she pronounced a few moments later.

“Well done, Lady Lyanna,” the Princess complimented her. “You are, of course, familiar with the instrument. Does His Grace play for you? In Dorne he used to play all the time.” Rhaegar had developed a fondness for that particular instrument and as such Lyanna had heard him play. The high harp could produce very sweet songs in skilled hands, and in Rhaegar’s it often left the ladies on the court in tears.

“There are times when he does,” Lyanna answered. “Now, Your Grace, I believe it is my turn.” Elia was more than happy to allow Lyanna to pose her own riddle. “A lonely wanderer, wounded with iron, I am smitten with war-blades, sated with strife, worn with the sword-edge; I have seen many battles, much hazardous fighting, oft without hope of comforts or help in the carnage of war, ere I perish and fall in the fighting of men. The leavings of hammers, the handiwork of smiths, batter and bite me, hard-eged and sharp. The brunt of the battle I am doomed to endure. In all the folk-stead no leech could I find. With wort or simple to heal my wounds; But day and night with the deadly blows The marks of the war-blades double and deepen.”*

The Dornish Princess was silent for a few moments. Lyanna had considered one of the easier riddles, precisely for the reason that while she wished to demonstrate she was as good as any other woman, she had no desire to offer insult by being petty. At least not in an obvious manner.

“It is a shield, my lady,” Elia finally responded.

“So it is,” Lyanna agreed. A small smile bloomed upon her lips. “In the Valyrian tongue the true skill of it can be detected.”

“A strange thing hangs by a man’s thigh, hidden by a garment. It has a hole in its head. It is stiff and strong and its firm bearing reaps a reward. When the man hitches his clothing high above his knee, he wants the head of that hanging thing to poke the old hole of fitting length it has often filled before,”* Elia said without preamble. “I do not think you shall find this one as easy.”

It was an interesting thing, Lyanna considered. She thought the words through in her mind. Ah, gods, but the notion of it slipped from her mind as soon as she could grasp it. Lyanna breathed in deeply and tried to calm her thoughts. If her mind was troubled, then she would not ever guess. There was something about the way her companion had spoken the words, as if to her they held a meaning she was certain Lyanna did not know.

“Ah, I know,” she spoke out quote suddenly, “what the man has is a key.”

“Aye, a key,” Elia laughed once more. “I think this is proof enough for me, Lady Lyanna, though, I never did doubt you. But you must have your turn too.”

“Answer me this, Your Grace, by what manner does water become bone.” In the old Valyrian tradition it was a manner of working used in poems. Lyanna quite liked the sound of it and the image it conjured.

Once again silence fell between them, rife with latent potentiality. Lyanna waited patiently for the Dornish Princess to deliver her answer. It felt as if a thousand years passed her by before Elia finally decided what her answer would be.

“It is ice that turns water into bone,” she said, delivering her answer in a decisive manner.

“Right you are, Your Grace,” came the light reply of Lyanna.

Such it was that their game came to an end. Lyanna had not won, yet she had not lost either. It was a stalemate, but one which she would have to accept.

It was at that point that Cersei Lannister entered the chamber, thankfully distracting Lyanna.

***

It was a lucky thing that Rickard Stark had replied to Lord Arryn’s request before the King had taken his leave. Lyanna could not help but feel unsettled. Though Lord Stark had agreed to allow his second born to continue his training at King’s Landing. He had, strangely enough, not even asked about her. Had Lyanna possessed a weaker heart, she might have felt it as a slight. Yet she held back her disappointment; it would do no good to linger upon such matters that no one could find solutions for.

“Will you tell me about our home?” She had intentionally called it their home, but she did not remember anything of Winterfell, not even the warm feeling one associated with a space of protection. Yet it must have been that for in the presence of her brother she did not feel at all threatened.

“Winterfell,” Ned said softly. “It is called Winterfell, the keep of our father.” He helped her along the path, one hand pressed to her back. Lyanna faced forward so as to not discomfort him. “Sometimes words are not quite enough.”

“Sometimes they are not,” she agreed just as softly, “but I would still hear them spoken, if it be right of me to make such a request.” She insisted, yet she could not say why she did. Ned Stark was all that she had imagined any of her brothers would be. He was kind and courteous, a little bit shy and not quite certain of how to approach her. She felt his hesitancy whenever he spoke to her.

“Winterfell came to be by the ingenious plans of the first Brandon Stark. He was gifted, the old gods having blessed him with wisdom and skill. He built Winterfell during the Age of Heroes with the help of giants. Some say that he helped build Storm’s End too.” He stopped for a moment as if seeking reassurance that she was listening.

Lyanna inclined her head. “That is where your companion hails from, is it not?” she questioned, thinking of Robert Baratheon.

“Aye. One day, Robert will be the lord of Storm’s End.” And Ned would never be the lord of Winterfell. Lyanna tried not to be too disappointed for him; it was, after all, the way of the world. Second sons were to find their fortune outside their father’s home. If he never became the next head of House Stark, though, that meant he could remain by her side.

“I wish him well of it, but tell me more about our home,” she said a moment later, as they continued walking down the road.

“Hot water runs through its walls and though one would think it a cold place, it is not. Even in the coldest of winters, the walls of the keep offer protection.” Her brother’s voice had a changed quality to it. It seemed that despite his obvious uncertainty, he did in fact enjoy speaking to her of their home. “I think it best that you would visit one day.”

“When the King returns, I shall ask his permission to,” she assured him. She would have asked him right away, yet the fact that the realm demanded his attention stopped her.

His Majesty had decided, upon hearing of some problems on the land of Lord Darklyn, that he would himself go there and find a solution. Apparently, the situation could not be resolved unless he did so. The Queen had tried to stop him, Rhaegar had volunteered to go himself, yet all that failed to impress the King. He assured them all that he would be returning soon and that they would do best to care for other matters he could not attend to instead of trying to stop him from doing his duty.

“Do you think he shall be gone long?” Ned questioned.

“I cannot say, brother. The King seldom does as we would expect of him in matters of travel.” But in her heart she knew that the sole father-figure she had known had not been entirely joyful at the prospect of leaving his newborn son. He would return, in his own time, but soon. “What of Lord Stark’s other sons?”

“Brandon is the firstborn,” Ned answered not a moment later. “I understand that he will soon be knighted. He has a lo9ve for weapons, that one, and he can ride better than any man I’ve ever known.”

Lyanna herself had made good progress in that field. If she could have somehow regained her sight, she would have been thrilled to ride with her brothers, she reckoned. As it was, she was very happy that she could finally keep herself on a horse and not fall flat on her face. “And you, Ned? How well do you ride?”

“Not well enough,” came the sullen reply. Lyanna just then realised that she had touched his pride with her question.

“The roads can be treacherous,” she offered by way of apology. “And the youngest one?”

“That would be Benjen. He reads all day and writes letters filled with stories.” From his tone of voice Lyanna gathered that he was not very happy with that. “Maesters Wallys cannot get him to train his body as well as he does his mind.”

That rather put Lyanna in the mind another young man who enjoyed books more than swords and lances. “All actions have their purposes. Perhaps Benjen merely needs more time,” She shrugged and continued on her way.

“They would like you very much,” Ned confessed. “You look very like mother.”

“Do you remember her well?” she could not help asking.

“Not very,” her brother was obliged to say, “I was young when she died. But whenever father spoke of her, he painted her portrait with words, if that makes any sense. And the first time I saw you, it struck me that you looked just like her.”

Holding a hand to her chest, Lyanna uttered shaky words of gratitude. There was a certain need in her to identify with her house and family. Blood could not be thinned, nor could the bonds it forged be cut off so easily.

“What sort of woman was she?” The question flowed unrestrained past her lips.

“A good woman,” Ned replied, though something melancholy had crept in his voice. “I remember she used to sing to us when we stood before the fire.”

***

Lack of sight made it extremely difficult to map out the face of other beings. Lyanna could, however, hear when a person approached her. Footsteps sounds and sometimes grunts or heavy breathing would accompany them. Generally, she was not disturbed by any of them. Yet even as the Queen squeezed her hand gently, Lyanna felt a shock of fright crawl down her spine as the old witch made her presence known.

“Your Majesty,” the woman greeted in a scratchy voice, “and m’lady.” A strange smell had followed the woman in. It was nothing like anything Lyanna had ever encountered before. It was certainly not body odour, nor was it a perfume of sorts, neither did it remind her of a natural scent. It was strange and frightening for that. “You have summed me.”

“Indeed,” the Queen answered. “Lady Lyanna wishes to know from your own lips about the prophecy.”

“The prophecy,” the other spoke, merely repeating what the Queen had said. “So many prophecies. Ah, aye, aye. I see it now. I do.”

“See what?” Lyanna questioned, fright gripping her tightly. “What do you see?”

“I see what you wish to have the answer for.” A chuckle passed her lips. Lyanna drew herself closer to the Queen and waited with baited breath for the woman to continue. “The prophecy you already know, child. ‘Twill do not good to repeat what has been said.”

That was true. She did know what the prophecy said. Rhaegar had told her, after all. “Then tell me if it will come true,” she demanded.

“Prophecies tend to come true,” the witch laughed. “Aye, they do. It is just that their timing goes with the timing of the gods and the gods cannot be rushed. You know that as well.”

“So I do,” Lyanna replied weakly. Queasiness interrupted her before she could speak more. Something was not quite right.

“Then there must be only one other request, m’lady,” the woman followed, seemingly unbothered. “And that, I am afraid is dangerous. Think well upon what you wish to ask of me. Think very well, m’lady for words have power and once spoken they can never be taken back. Never.”

If she did ask, Lyanna was certain that the woman would answer. “Never?” she questioned instead, small hands curling into the holds of her dress, fingers wrapped tightly in silk and linen. “Why never? Do we not have choices?”

“Choices,” came the rejoinder, “are only for the gods to make. We are what we are, m’lady, and that cannot be changed. Ask yourself, if you will, if it is better to live with the illusion of choice or if you should know from this moment on what awaits. And whichever you choose, let that guide you upon your path.”

And they came to the crux of the matter. Lyanna closed her eyes, more out of exasperation than any need, for before her the ever-lasting sea of darkness would never yield and give way to light. She wanted to know, she truly did. But something warned her away, made her hesitate. If only she could get the words out her mouth.

But then a thought struck her. If she were to truly know and be forced into an role she might resent by the very knowledge, then it would truly be that she had been stripped of choice. Yet if the role given to her was one she accepted with an open heart, the risk of hearing would be rewarded. That left her in a very strange position where she could only win as much as she dared risk.

“Tell me this then,” she started, raising her head slowly and opening her eyes, “do you truly believe in the words you have spoken?”

“Aye, m’lady, I do,” the thick voice replied. “The gods speak in tongues but they do not lie.”

Did they truly, Lyanna wondered. Yet it seemed she would have to accept that. “Very well, then. I should think this is more than enough to satisfy my curiosity.”

She truly wished that there was someone who she could share the burden with. A hand came upon her shoulder. Lyanna knew it to be the Queen’s. “There, There, Lyanna. It is all for the best,” she whispered. “Trust in the gods and trust in yourself.”

“I shall,” Lyanna promised, though it sounded hollow to her ears. How could she trust in herself when she was incapable of being what she needed to be? How could she do her duty given the present circumstances? Frustrated tears stung her eyes, sliding down her cheeks. Lyanna wiped them away angrily.

“All shall pass,” the crone spoke once more. “It is the way of the world to be hurt and then to grow stronger. If I may, m’lady, let an old woman be of use and give a words of wisdom, such as it is.”

“Do speak,” Lyanna invited, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

“All suffer through this life, but the truly strong will have learned something, something that might help them later on. Being strong, m’lady, is a choice. It is up to each and every one of us.” Those words floated to Lyanna’s ears. “But above all, be true to yourself, for only this self shall always be there to offer protection.” In her mind they took tremendous proportions, ingraining themselves into her very soul.

“These words you speak have shaken the child,” the Queen noted after a few moments of silence. “It was a thought well spoken, now let us see if you are capable of a deed well done. Leave us, witch, for the time being. And after, we shall see.”

Lyanna found herself wrapped in warm arms and pulled into another body. Tears continued to flood her eyes. They would not stop, despite the fact that sadness and fear no longer afflicted her. Strangely enough, the Queen merely held her close, as if knowing that words would have no effect.

She was rocked gently from side to side, held in the safety of a familiar embrace. “Oh, my little Lyanna,” cooed the Queen, “I do not know who had put such thoughts into your head, but we shall prove them wrong. We shall. This I can promise you.” And the she began to hum softly, an old lullaby upon her lips.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Riddles from the Exeter Book. An Anthology of Old English Poetry. Charles W. Kennedy, translator. New York: Oxford University Press, 1960.
> 
> Hope you had fun. Remember, if you have any questions, words of advice or whatnot, feel free to comment.
> 
> If not, till next time.


	18. xviii. Rhaella III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muhahahahaha...I'm so evil it's making me giddy. I'm just sitting here laughing like a mad genius.

Rhaegar held the child in his arms, peering down at the small red face. “It is truly amazing, how small he is, mother,” he spoke to the Queen.

Rhaella smiled at her oldest son. “It is truly amazing to think you were once so too,” she offered in reply. It was good of her son to come and sit with her, for something like a storm cloud had placed itself above her in the recent period. She could but hide away the dread and hope it did not seep into her sunlit world.

Since Aerys had left, Rhaella had not known a good night’s rest. If the babe did not wake her, weeping in hunger, then it was her own nightmares that made her come above into the dominion of the awake from the world of dreams. And it seemed that neither wine nor any other draught would help. Pycelle was as his wit’s end. Ant the Queen grew sullen and quiet. Having her sons with her helped somewhat.

Yet nothing could erase the worry from her soul. Her husband had left them to travel to Lord Darklyn’s domain, yet Aerys had not taken with him but Ser Gawayn Gaunt and a handful of soldiers. How she wished he would have allowed at least another one of the Kingsguards to join him. But Aerys had protested at the mere suggestion, claiming that there was no need for such.

Rhaella had begged him to have Lord Tywin care for the matter. Yet her husband refused that also. Somehow, the idea has wormed its way into his head that the matters of the realm should be cared for by his very own hands. And thus he had left on his journey. And since then, no words had come, though the Queen had waited and waited.

The babe began wailing. Rhaella stood up and walked towards Rhaegar. She took the child from his arms and a wet nurse hurried inside the room. The child was given to the woman and both Queen and Prince returned to their conversation.

“Fret not, my dear mother, it has been not such a long time since he has left,” Rhaegar spoke. “Mayhap mud slowed the journey, or mayhap they stopped to rest.”

“It matters not, my son, that it can be explained in a thousand ways, this delay. You will understand someday that the heart is a strange master.” She gave him a soft look, flooded with love and sorrow. “I need but a word of him, to know him hale and hearty is all I wish for.”

“And he is,” her son insisted, placing a hand upon her shoulder. “You know father better than anyone else. He shall write when he remembers that he ought. And that shall only after all conflicts have been solved.”

Another one of those things which Rhaella was certain would drive her insane. Her husband could not keep up a flowing correspondence. He would forever forget to write, or reply too late or not even pay any mind to the letters that did not concern the realm.

Yet for all that, Rhaella did not think she asked for too much when she wished for him to write even a line. “Do send another Kingsguard, my son. Though he might be angered, I shall take all blame for this choice.”

“I will not,” the young Prince denied her. Looking at him, Rhaella could not help but notice how similar to her brother he was. It went beyond the expression upon his face or the general attributes of House Targaryen that had been passed down onto him; he had the same obstinacy and insistence, though softened somewhat by a temper similar to hers. “Speak no more of this,” he asked of her.

And for the moment she would do as he asked. But Rhaella had made up her mind that he would have word of her husband and send another member of the Kingsguard after the King whether her son approved of it or not. She was not yet to be led by a boy, no matter how wise he’d proved himself in the pasy.

Yet to appease him she nodded her head and began detailing upon another matter. “My son, tell me, when have you last seen Lyanna?”

Rhaegar gave her a long look. “The last I saw her was in the gardens with her brother.” Something about the way he said it had the Queen glancing at him in a questioning manner. “She was joined by the Princess and Lord Baratheon’s heir.”

And what should worry you about that, Rhaegar?” she pressed further as a troubled look bloomed upon his face.

“’Tis nothing I am sure,” he tried to dissuade her from questioning him further, yet Rhaella would not give up. In the end, he had to give her an answer. “The image of it, I know not why, did not sit well with me. Ask me not for reason, for I have none.”

Rhaella had her suspicion, but she did not voice them. Instead, she set about giving her son some words of wisdom. “Your duty is not only to the realm,” she spoke, “but to Lyanna too. I do not ask that you turn away from the task your father has set before you, mind you, but that does not mean you should neglect her.” A small smile curved her lips upwards. “Teach her if you wish her to be of use.”

That was, of course, the best solution. Lyanna knowledge of matters of state was, at present, mere theory. The Septas and Maesters had done well by her, yet it should stand right that she be tested upon it. For how else would they know what place to afford her?

“You speak true, mother,” her son admitted. “And that is what I will do.” Indeed, Rhaegar seemed very pleased with the solution, so much so that he had a smile of his own to give her. “How grateful I am to you, you cannot know.”

“But I do know,’ she contradicted softly, wrapping her arms around him. “A mother always knows,” she continued. “Now be off, you, and see about Lyanna.”

And Rhaegar left. Rhaella went in search of Viserys, her mind swelling with ideas of how to achieve her goal.

***

Cold and stormy, the night drew forth with its dark veils. It fell upon the sky and earth like the great shadow of a giant, coming to rest upon the hills and valleys and mountains, blackening the water of streams and brooks.

Candles burned, wanderers in the dark, spreading a weak light by which human eyes could see, and where such candles could be found there were these creatures too. Such was the case of the King’s solar where Queen and Prince had met once again, to speak and sit with one another; to be of good cheer in other words.

“How did you find Lyanna?” Rhaella asked, hoping that she had been right and that Lyanna had proved herself to be of help. The Septa in whose care the young lady had been placed had assured the Queen that Lady Lyanna was an impeccable student and that, given time to gather experience, she would be just as wise as any of the King’s councillor.

Hearing her sex so well spoken of, Rhaella herself had felt a surge of pride. It was time to find out if the words of praise had any merit. And so she waited for her son’s answer to come.

“I confess I was hesitant at first to pose to her such troubles as those which plague the realm,” the confession was met with a slight grimace from the Queen. But her son did not seem to take notice of it. Or rather he did not mind it. “But when I did, she gave as such answers as to surprise me. What a good understanding she had of such matters.”

Flushing with pleasure as if the compliment had been given to her, the Queen nodded her head. The confirmation of her opinion served to stroke her ego. “A good thing you did. Yet I can see upon your face that you wish to tell me something else.”

“So I do,” came his admission. “Lyanna is witty, educated and competent. But she is still a child. Some thing to her are simply when they should be infinitely more complicated.”

“Of course,” Rhaella agreed without a moment’s hesitation. “She is yet a girl, Rhaegar, and she will be for some time more. But you know as well as I that a bud will bloom into a flower within its own time. But keep careful watch of her.”

“Indeed.” He chuckled softly. “Aside from the troubles of the realm, I have been given much information upon troubles of hers. Has father spoken to you about when he plans to speak to the Lord Hand and the ruling Princess of Dorne?”

Of course, it was known to both of them that Lyanna had not accepted Elia Martell anymore within her heart than she had on that first day. Cersei Lannister had fared better by comparison, yet even with her, the Northerner lady was somewhat awkward, lukewarm at best. The only person she seemed to form a genuine attachment to was her brother, and that in itself was understandable.

“He has,” Rhaella offered, “yet I think it will not be as soon as Lyanna would like it. Given that Cersei herself is yet a child and so is her intended husband, she will continue as Lyanna’s companion. As for our Dornish friends, they shall have to wait longer still. But I am certain Lyanna will get along splendidly.”

It would be the least of hardships she endured, Rhaella thought, though not unkindly. To have persons she was not fond of surround her was a curse every highborn figure endured. Lyanna would learn that as all people had their purposes, she must accept all and set each in their rightful place. Yet she could recognise the danger which the young girl had just started to perceive. While Lyanna knew of only Elia’s ambitions, the Queen was well-aware that the House of Martell were not the only ones who wished to wed into the royal family.

Yet it was how all great houses understood to be honoured by their rulers. And the honour would have to be given. It was truly a pity that the line of the dragon had drastically diminished. There were so many possible alliances that they would benefit from, but not enough members to seal them all.

“He is considering of late offering for Lord Tully’s youngest daughter.” It was al very absurd in the Queen’s mind. “The girl is much too old, of course, but House Tully may yet carry a grudge for the spurning of Lady Celia.”

“Perhaps we should wait until more opportune alliances present themselves,” the Prince drawled softly. “Father means well, but I daresay it shall do to have caught only Lord Lannister and Dornish for now.”

Upon that they both agreed. The Queen nodded her head. “Right you are, my son. Who knows what other opportunities may crop up. Tell me. is there yet no news from the King?”

“Nothing worth speaking of,” Rhaegar assured her. “He had not written, but news comes that they have reached the lands of Lord Darklyn and shall soon descend upon the Dun Fort. There, you seem there is little need to worry over these matters.”

Pleased with the response, Rhaella laughed lightly. “Again I tell you, wait until you understand better what goes on within a heart such as mine,” she said to him. “And when you do, speak to me of not worrying. I should like to see it one day.”

“And see it you shall,” he half-promised with a small shake of his head as if he could not quite believe her. He handed to her the message the raven had brought and she took it from his hand gingerly.

Rhaella took her time reading the words, being in no particular hurry and wishing to understand well and truly what those words meant. It was as her son had said. The roads had been more difficult to travel due to some unexpected storms, but they had managed to reach their destination. Soon the whole matter would be done with and her husband would return.

The news, confirmed in the hand of some maester or another, put Rhaella more at ease than before. Id so stood matters, then she could see to Viserys without other thoughts clouding her mind. And when Aerys returned, she would allow her Daeron, Aegon and Jaehaerys to be the first to greet him, so as to show her gratitude to him, and exactly how she felt about the fact that he not put quill to paper himself.

“That should do,” she murmured quietly, her eyes yet lingering upon the written words.

***

Viserys wept bitter tears as sweat soaked his skin, dripping in small drops from him and moistening his silk clothing. Rhaella wept too, in despair and anger, that the god would see fit to place another such burden upon her shoulders.

She had woken up to a bright day, sun shining upon the sky and bird thrilling cheerful songs. Rhaella had then gone to check upon her youngest child and finding him in a bad way immediately called the Grand Maester. But Pycelle knew not what could be ailing the child and simply stated that the Prince should be fed. Yet Viserys would not draw milk, neither from the wet nurse, not from the Queen herself.

Given the situation, she had sent one of her ladies after Lyanna. The young she-wolf, however, was not appearing and the Queen could feel herself slip deeper and deeper into despair. She looked upon the shining babe and gathered him to her chest, a broken song upon her lips. It could not be, the gods could not be so cruel s to take yet another of her children. So the Queen waited and prayed and hoped that her son would survive. For if he did not, she knew not what would become of her.

The doors leading to her chamber opened and her lady-in-waiting came rushing forward, pulling a disoriented Lyanna in her wake. “Your Majesty,” she spoke, short of breath, her voice raspy, “I have brought Lady Lyanna.”

“Your Majesty,” Lyanna repeated, her small face scrunched in fright. “Your Majesty, pray tell me what has happened.”

But Rhaella could wait no longer and give no explanations, but one, “My son needs you, Lady Lyanna.” And upon the tail of those words, Lyanna was given the wailing child whom she held close to her chest. “Save him, save my son.”

And as before with the sons of the Targaryen House, in the arms of Lyanna Stark the child grew quiet. Lyanna moved towards the bed, aided by the Queen and her women, she was perched upon its edge and rocked the child back and forth in a gentle manner. Viserys, for his part, was adequately soothed. He gurgled and shifted about and then he accepted even the nourishment of the Queen.

Upon his birth, the child had been deemed hale by the maesters, and as such Lyanna had not been required to hold him, nor did any of them think the curse would act moon turns after the child was born. Yet it seemed that it had.

“He should be fine from now on,” Lyanna spoke softly, pressing a symbolic kiss to the child’s wet forehead with great care.

“The fault lies with me,” the Queen said moments later. “I should have done as the witch instructed,” she cried.

“There is no fault and there should be no blame,” the young girl countered. “We should rejoice instead, for the Prince shall be well again.”

Taking her son into her arms once more, Rhaella bushed her lips to Lyanna’s cheek. “You are a blessing, you truly are, Lady Lyanna.” And joy could be once more seen in the Queen’s eyes when she gazed upon her son.

But it was not to last, not more than mere hours. It was late in the evening as the Queen embroidered, the crib of her son resting near her feet that the doors burst open and in came her oldest son, followed by the Hand of the King.

The babe in the crib wailed in protest at having been awoken and Rhaella had a wet nurse calm him down. She looked upon the grim faces of the two men and a frown touched upon her own. “What is the meaning of this?” she questioned.

“It would be best, Your Majesty, if you were to be seated,” the Lord Hand advised. His stare bore into her, cruel and cutting. Her breath grew short and Rhaella did as he bid, more to keep from breaking her head open than from any desire to please the man.

“Tell me,” she demanded, holding her face in her palms to mask her distress, “tell me this instant.” Tears once again crept upon her and she could do little but allow them free reign. Why could her joy not last, she wondered. What had she done to deserve the wrath of the gods?

“Father has been captured at Duskendale. Lord Darklyn and his men are holding him captive,” her son relied hesitantly.

A muffled sob escaped the Queen. Yet the time for weeping was past. She lowered her hands and her eyes burned into her son’s. “How is that possible?”

“The message was a forgery,” he replied. “I have sent for all our men to be gathered. And the Lord Hand is having his own troops assembled. Tomorrow, I ride for Duskendale and the Dun Fort.”

Staggering to her feet, Rhaella stumbled in the arms of her son. “Allow me to ride with you,” she asked him, her eyes tearful and pleading. “I must.”

“This cannot be, Your Majesty,” Lord Tywin protested. “Who shall look after the realm?”

“The council,” she replied snappishly. “I ride with you.” And it was an order the second time around, instead of a plea. “I cannot sit here and wait. I cannot.”

Her son at least seemed to better understand her need. “If that is your will, mother, then ride with us you shall. But it is amongst the Kingsguards you should ride and never break from them for any reason at all. Promise this to me.”

His demand was satisfactorily met when the Queen gave her oath. “I shall do exactly as you say.” It mattered not with whom she rode, so long as she did.

And so it was that the forces of the crown and of House Lannister came together to bear down upon the lands of Lord Denys Darklyn. They rode out early in the morning, when the sun was not yet shining.

Behind them remained the Red Keep and its protective walls. Among then, perched atop a mighty beast better suited for a warrior than for a woman, rode the Queen herself, garbed in mail and light armour. She was the banner that spoke louder than any other.

And at the front, the young Dragon Prince led them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this children is how i leave you. I hope you have a fun time picking your brains about what will happen next. :)
> 
> And do tell me what you think about this chapter.
> 
> Also, over 300 comments & many, many kudos. Thanks guys.


	19. xix. Aerys III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, at Duskendale...

The horse nickered in slight protest as he pulled hard of the reins. Aerys looked down at the beast with a spark of annoyance in his eyes. He then gazed up at the darkening skies and with a curse upon his lips, dug his heels into the animal’s flanks, urging it forward, faster.

“Your Majesty,” Ser Gaunt began, “mayhap ‘twould be best to stop an at inn. It looks like a great storm is heading our way.” If not for the address none would think Ser Gaunt a knight of the Kinsguard, especially not with the ragged outfit he wore during their travel.

That, Aerys could not deny. The wind sped past them in hearty gusts, making the banners flutter wildly, as if caught in the merciless claws of a mortal enemy. The leaves in the trees fought to hold onto solid bark. Some, despite their efforts, were swept away. And above them the clouds hung heavy, dark with squall and strife. Added to which was the fact that after so much riding most of the men were tired and they could do well with a cup of ale and warm food.

“Very well, we stop at the nearest inn,” the King called out to the men behind him. At his declaration a cheer went up, not at all unexpected. Aerys gave a swift nod and returned his gaze to the road.

So as to not invite trouble, the Targaryen banners were lowered and hidden away and they rode on as a merchant’s company. There was safety in their number, for though Aerys had insisted that he would not take many men, he took skilled ones with him on his journey.

The Seven must have been smiling upon them, for they found an inn nearby. Their horses were taken to the stables and a few silver given to the boy that had been lest in charge of the task was assurance enough that the animals would be cared for. For good measure, one of the King’s men followed the lad inside the stables.

Aerys and his company took themselves inside, where warmth, food and drink could be found. They were greeted by a buxom young woman, no doubt some relation of the innkeeper’s, and led to a large sturdy table. Each man ordered to his heart’s content and Aerys himself could do no less.

They were served with great care by the buxom young woman, whose name was Joanna, and a slight older one, a dry husk of a woman whose only attribute were her large black eyes. Aerys allowed himself to steal a look or two at Joanna, mentally comparing her to another Joanna he had known a lifetime past. They could not be more different they tried.

Where Joanna Lannister had been tall and slim and perfectly built, this common Joanna was rather round in shape, thick of wait and ample in bosom. There was a certain pleasantness about her face. Joanna Lannister had had stern, though magnificent, features, her green eyes shining like emeralds. The Joanna before him had dark eyes, like the older woman, and instead of golden tresses running down her back, fiery ringlets fell playfully about her.

And he protested to none of those, of course.

Yet his attention was mistaken by the young Joanna for something else. She blushed hotly under his gaze and offered him a shy smile. Aerys nearly choked on his wine at that. Why, he could have easily been her father, he reckoned. But that seemed not to matter to Joanna who leaned slightly over to give him a better view of her impressive attributes

She was, however, called away by other patrons of the inn, each of them needing their own request fulfilled. Aerys breathed out in relief. It had been some time since he’d shared the bed of another woman but Rhaella and he found that not even the novelty of it tempted him. He returned to his wife and only then noticed that a few men were grinning, giving looks to Joanna every now and then.

“Your Majesty,” Ser Gaunt whispered, at which Aerys hissed a warning back. But Ser Gaunt went on. “Shall we remain the night?”

“We shall,” he replied, knowing that they had little choice in the matter. It was either that or going out into what looked like an awful storm.

The innkeeper was only too happy to take their coin and give them rooms. Aerys was led to his own room by another one of the man’s daughter. This one, Cynthia by name, cut a slim figure and stood tall, nearly as tall as he was. Unlike her sister, she had blue eyes and light hair. And also unlike her sister, she was more apt to catch his attention.

Cynthia busied herself with prolonging her stay in his presence by asking about him, his business and how his journey had gone so far. Aerys, on the other hand, knowing well enough her aim, was think whether he should accept her invitation or not. The young woman helped him along with that when he offered no answer. She smiled at him seductively and sat down on the bed, drawing her skirts up to her knees.

“’Tis not an easy thing to make one’s way through that out there,” she spoke, parting her legs slightly. She bit down on her lip and the continued. “It must be cold and lonely.”

“And you shall offer me warmth and comfort?” he asked, slightly mocking her. The girl was either too stupid to catch on or too careless, for she nodded her head.

“Anything can be bought for an extra coin,” she shrugged. There was a hungry look in her eyes.

Aerys came towards her and pulled her off his bed. She did not belong there. “An extra coin you say?” He dropped as few copper pieces in one of her hands. Her other one he pushed down. “Go on then, earn your coin.”

He would not, of course, be taking her, Aerys decided as he looked at the fair-haired creature kneeling before him. Disgust and mild entertainment warred inside of him. And when he could no longer look at her, Aerys shifted his gaze to the ceiling, thinking that perhaps he would have done better to send Tywin in his stead.

***

As they rode away from the inn, Aerys felt more than just relief at leaving behind the wood and stone structure with its inhabitants. He was, most of all, glad to be free of Cynthia. The girl had done what she’d been paid for, yet that did not mean that Aerys was at all satisfied. It was a matter of her skill or his own performance, but after she was done, giving what small measure of comfort she could provide, Aerys found he could not stand the sight of her.

Just as she’d fund her way into his chamber in a hurry, she was unceremoniously sent on her way, the copper coins in her hand doubled. It was simply that the King did not want her there any longer than was necessary.

The man posted at his door had not blinked at the sight of the woman leaving, her hair tousled and her fingers clutching the copper coins greedily. He was no remorse, nor shame in her face. Aerys was no stranger to tricks of the bedroom. In his youth, despite being a man with a wife, he had had his own curiosities which he’d never felt quite right to impart upon his sister. Still, after much time in Rhaella’s company he found that affection was stronger than any of those, pleasant as they might be.

So what, then, had driven him to accept the woman’s service? Such thoughts consumed the King as he and his part rode on to Duskendale. He could not quite account for the actions and he was more bothered than ashamed by them. Aerys clutched the reins of his horse tighter. His brow furrowed and a menacing glint appeared in his gaze. In that moment, he promised to himself that no matter the temptation, he would never allow the hands of another woman upon him but Rhaella’s.

That vow appeased his conscience somewhat, at least enough to allow him the freedom of thinking upon other subjects. Such as Lord Darklyn’s demands for more rights for his citizens and that new charter he wished for. The man had some gumption, Aerys would give him that. Yet he was just as much of an idiot as he was brave. One did not make demands of one’s King, be they lords of princes. The King reigned and ruled and the people of the land bowed to him. And that was the lesson that he would teach to the insolent lord.

Spurred on by such notions, Aerys was truly pleased when they finally entered Darklyn lands. Heartened by the reaching of their destination the men began to sing a merry song among themselves, one which Aerys listened to with only half and ear. It was one of those bawdy pieces that men would usually concoct in the company of one another, praising exploits of all kings, but mostly those of the bedroom. The King laughed at some of the more devious examples. And on they went with such antics until they had reached the gates of the Dub Fort and there they had been waited for.

A stout short man greeted them, his light eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Your Majesty, my good men, be welcome.”

Ser Gaunt gave the man a long hard look. “Where is the master of the Dun Fort?” he demanded, not an once of patience in his voice. Ser Gaunt rarely did exert himself to show benevolence to anyone.

“Here I am,” a man shouted out, coming on horseback past the open gates. The youth threw a haughty look at the Kingsguard. “Your Majesty,” he greeted the King with no inflection in his voice. It seemed that Lord Darklyn was rather bored.

“My good lord,” Aerys began, gathering his wits about him, “what is the meaning of this obstinacy you show to us. You will not pay your taxes, yet you wish the crown to give you rights?”

For a brief moment the young man’s face turned white, but he covered that quickly enough. “I have made, my demands, Your Majesty, and if you are wise, you shall do as I say.”

The gall! Aerys could feel his anger rising. “Listen to me, boy,” he growled out, “and listen well. You shall abandon these demands you make and pay the takes you owe us. Else you shall find that justice applies to lords as well as serfs.”

Lord Darklyn laughed. “I wish you’d had the goo sense to listen, Your Majesty.” And at a nod of his head, a rain of arrows came barrelling towards Aerys and his companions. Some men were felled, falling from their horses with shouts of pain, others managed to raise they shield and protect themselves. In front of Aerys one man had himself become a shield.

The arrows were followed by a horde of yelling soldiers, in greater number than the King’s and better prepared for a confrontation. Ser Gaunt pulled his sword out and began cutting through the enemies, yet an arrow had pierced his shoulder and the wound slowed him down and pained him. Aerys too drew forth his own weapon. But the enemies were too many.

They circled him, one managing to wound his arm. Another cut off his blow before it could meet flesh. Aerys cursed his luck and looked around for Ser Gaunt. Yet when he finally saw the figure of the knight, the man had a sword through his middle and was on his knees. He was lost, Aerys realised.

Denys Draklyn had him bound. He would not even allow him an honourable death. A prisoner, that was what his fate would be. Yet fettered as he was there was little he could do but keep his head up high and scowl at the man who dared to treat him so.

“Your deeds will not go unpunished,” he promised his opponent. “Think you that you shall not meet your end by my blade?”

“Words, those,” Lord Denys retorted. “And words have no power here, Your Majesty. If you would be so kind as to follow me inside, we shall accommodate you.” The snide remark was accompanied by the boisterous laughter of his men.

Defeated for the moment, Aerys saw no alternative but to do as he was bid. But his moment would come, and then Aerys would show Lord Draklyn exactly what he thought of his scheme. Just like a common criminal he was thrown in the dungeons, with no company cut his own.

There was no light. There were no sounds. There was nothing and none one and Aerys looked around like a wounded animal wildly searching for an escape.

As time passed, he managed to calm himself enough to start working on a plan to free himself. The King was not yet dead, nor would he be anytime soon if he managed to escape the hold of Denys Darklyn.

***

Lord Darklyn was toying with him, Aerys realised as he was woken up, in what be believed to be the middle of the night, by tortured screams. Aerys shut his eyes tightly and tried to block out the sounds. Or perhaps it was day and he had slept it away. It was no use trying to guide himself after the meals pattern for at time he would go days without seeing any food. Water, however, they gave him enough of.

He hadn’t seen the sun in so long that he thought it would blind him if ever he managed to find his way out of those dungeons. If the Seven were good. He had prayed in those first days of his imprisonment, he had prayed for the gods to contrive to free him somehow. Nothing had come of it, of course. Then he had tried assessing the schedule of guards, but a new man came each time to leave him a bowl of thin soup, when such would be given, and small black pieces of bread. They would allow him the light of a torch for a few moments, enough for him to wolf down the soup hungrily and then they’d extinguish the flame. It was just as well, for the light hurt his eyes.

The floor was hard beneath him and the dried straw barely helped matters at all. But it was better than nothing, Aerys supposed. He had managed to gather a large enough pile of it to sleep on at least. Another shriek of terror cut through his thoughts, distracting him momentarily. The King gave a low curse. He tossed around a bit, before a sharp pain made him yelp. The wound he had received throbbed and itched, yet if he touched it, he would be assaulted with an even greater ache. So he did nothing.

Instead, he thought about his children and Rhaella. And then he wondered if Rhaegar was managing well the affairs of the realm and if he was caring for Lyanna Stark. His oldest son would grow into a good man, the best of men, he thought, not without a hint of pride. And the younger Princes too, they would follow Rhaegar’s path. Their brother would teach them well. How Aerys missed them all. Viserys would not even remember him. But mayhap Rhaella would tell him stories.

He drifted off into an uneasy sleep, filled with gory images and his own fears. They all crowded upon him, making him toss and turn. He woke up with the taste of blood in his mouth and a chorus of pain-filled cries and the need to retch overpowered him. Aerys somehow managed to stagger to his feet, but bile, blood and spit still stained him afterwards. He had bitten his tongue.

With an angry shove he tore his tunic off, throwing it away from him. He searched in the dark for the water he’d been provided with. It was not enough to wash anything away, but at least his mouth could be cleansed with it. He took in a mouthful of water and then spat it out.

It was worse than death. At least in death, he could have some finality. In Lord Darklyn’s dungeons there was no ending. Only darkness.

And so passed his time in the inhospitable place. Aerys grew more and more forlorn until strength left him completely. He no lounger wished to preserve his life, nor did he attempt to plan an escape. He had given up entirely on ever seeing those dear to him again. And instead he begged the gods to end his existence, for he would have done it himself, yet he could barely even swallow the water whoever came down to look upon him forced down his throat.

It came to his as a great and terrifying surprise when he awoke in a featherbed, clean and covered with good clothing. His gaze travelled about the room wildly, searching for a human face. Yet none was to be found. He then moved his wounded arm and winced as it pulsed with pain. When he looked upon it, he could see that it had been covered in pristine gauze.

They had taken him out of the dungeon. But as the King knew not their purpose, he decided to pretend sleep until he could make sense of what was going on.

He had not long to wait. The door opened with a small squeak of protest and in came a shadowed figure. Aerys waited for it to approach, keeping his eyes closed. A sweet smell filled his nostrils and a tendril of hair brushed against his cheek. The person was probably leaning over him. Using the last of his strength, Aerys, like a snake appearing from the tall grass, would his arms around whoever was and squeezed.

“Oh, Your Majesty, I beg that you do not,” a deep female voice, slightly husky and carrying an accent, spoke out. “I am here to offer aid,” she whispered.

Opening his eyes, the King was treated to the view of a dark-haired, dark-eyes woman. “Who are you?” he demanded of her softly.

“A friend, Your Majesty.” And she helped him up. Aerys allowed himself to be aided by her. “Come, we should make haste.”

“You shall be rewarded,” he said. She merely smiled.

And haste they did make. The woman took him through some corridors, her agile steps tiring him out quickly. It seemed she knew the keep well, for all corridors she took him through were abandoned. Aerys was just about to ask where they were heading to, when suddenly, the woman delivered a painful blow to his middle and her then squeezed his wounded arm hard. The pain made him double over.

From the shadows come out jeering soldiers, Lord Darklyn among them. Aerys clutched his wounded arm, eyes flashing dangerously, the promise of retribution on his lips.

But Lord Darklyn mere came closer and knocked his feet from underneath him. “You are lost, great King and lost you shall remain. You are ours.” And the woman, treacherous snake, caught Lord Denys’ face between her palms are pressed her lips fervently to his.

“Away with him husband,” she said and her will was done. “Back to the dungeons.”

Two men grabbed Aerys by the shoulders, dragging him up. And he was led back to the dark cell that had been his home for he knew not how long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you have eyes large as plates by now. Which is good. It means I've shocked you. 
> 
> Okay, so sorry if I made any of you squeamish. But this was necessary. Hopefully, you won't hate forever for this.
> 
> That said, thank you for the abounding appreciation. You are awesome.


	20. xx. Jaime I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More from our favourite Lannister twins.
> 
> Sorry, I had forgotten about this previously, but the ages of the characters are as follows: Elia - cca. 22; Arthur - 19; Rhaegar 18; Brandon - 16; Ned - 14; Cersei and Jaime - 11; Lyanna and Benjen - 10. Did I miss anyone?

Jaime raised his weapon up high and brought it down with surprising force. His opponent barely managed to get out the way. But Jaime, seeing that the other boy had escaped merely launched into another attack, this time trying to strike from the other’s left. The adversary, not being as adept with his left arm than he was with his right, instinctively brought his sword to the left to parry the swing at which point Jaime changed directions and hit him fully in the left side.

The boy fell to the ground with a yelp of pain and clutched his injured side. “The Seven be good, Lannister. Do you have to hit so hard?”

“’Tis the only way to learn,” Jaime shrugged, not at all carrying that he had probably hit too hard. “Do get up. It’s not as if your wound is bleeding.

Upon hearing that, the boy jumped to his feet and pulled his tunic up to see for himself. A thick red line ran along his side. It had started to swell slightly and when he touched it, the pressure must have caused him some discomfort for he allowed his tunic to fall back. “I’ll get you for that, Lannister.”

“First you’d have to catch me Cerwyn,” Jaime snorted. Cerwyn was a slow lad, good enough to pummel in the training but not much good at anything else.

Still, it seemed that he had made up his mind. Cerwyn picked up his training sword and held it in his right hand. “Again,” he said simply.

A small grin painted Jaime’s lips. “If you insist.” One day he would train with true knights, not with children, Jaime promised himself, as he circled Cerwyn, intent burning in his eyes. He would become the greatest knight the realm had ever seen and then he would take Cersei away and flee with her. They wouldn’t dare talk then. And it would demonstrate to his father that Jaime did not need him.

The only problem was, of course, Tyrion. His little brother would be left all alone at Casterly Rock with only their sullen father for company. It seemed a rather cruel fate. Yet Jaime reminded himself that Tyrion would be well rewarded with the title of their father once Tywin Lannister was dead. That helped ease his mind somewhat.

He blocked one of Cerwyn’s better attempts at an attack and then responded with a thrust of his sword. It caught his opponent in the shoulder. Jaime laughed as Cerwyn lost his footing. “Careful now,” he warned.

But Cerwyn, the sly fox, might have learned something, for he was stable on his feet soon enough and giving Jaime a hard time keeping up with the rain of blows he delivered. But, being as good a swordsman as he was, Jaime saw his advantage not long after and delved into a blow that caught Cerwyn in the stomach. The boy stumbled back and fell to the ground, panting heavily.

“That was a good fight,” Jaime said, holding his hand out to help the other one up.

Cerwyn gave a short nod of his head and reached for the outstretched hand. “Next time I’ll defeat you.”

“If you say so,” Jaime laughed. He very much doubted those words but there was little reason to dissuade his adversary at this point. Cerwyn was convinced that he could actually win and it would be nothing less than amusing to watch him try.

Since the knights had left, with many other men, almost all the force of the Crownlands, the squires had gone as well, leaving those not yet squires in the keeps. Jaime had been quite distraught when his father had not allowed him to go along, though he had insisted that he was as good a fighter as any other man he’d incorporated in his army. But Tywin had been unmoved and he had ordered his son to better his performance in the history of the Seven Kingdoms if he truly wanted his father to consider sending him off to squire for some lord or another.

And Jaime had tried. He really had. But every time his eyes fell upon the names of Aegon and his sister wives, he suddenly felt very tired and ready to fall asleep. It did not help having another person read to him either. It was all very boring and it lacked any practical purpose. What need did he have to know what some dead king had done a century past? Tyrion would have known though. His little brother knew anything any ruler of Westeros had ever done, Jaime was certain of it. Perhaps he could write to Tyrion and see how he managed along in the absence of him and Cersei.

The trick was to not let Cersei know that he’d written. His sister was perfect but for that irrational disgust and hatred she held toward their younger brother. Tyrion was not at fault that their mother had lost too much blood. He’d been an unknowing babe. For all that his sister could not be made to see reason upon the matter, so Jaime merely brushed it aside as unimportant. She would understand one day.

“Where are you going, Lannister?” Cerwyn shouted after him as Jaime started making his way to where he knew he would find Cersei. He had a sudden longing to see his twin.

“’Tis of no matter to you,” he answered somewhat snappishly to Cerwyn’s enquiry. “I shall see you on the morrow.”

And he did walk away from Cerwyn and the other boys. There was, of course, no great ties between him and any of those other children his age. Jaime would have preferred being in Cersei’s company. Yet Cersei was forever in Lyanna Stark’s company and Jaime had been told by his father that he had to be very careful of the Stark girl and not approach her unless absolutely necessary. But since his father was not in King’s Landing to know how Jaime spent his days, the heir of Casterly Rock decided that if could not bring too much ill to disregard those warnings, even if just once. Who knew when his father would come back and the change would have passed him by.

The gardens were not very far away in any event. Thus making up his mind, Jaime broke into a hurried stride.

***

Lyanna Stark was leaning over the edge of a small pond, Cersei was saying something to the Dornish Princess and Arthur Dayne looked as if he had seen a ghost. Jaime assessed all these details as he came in view of the four people.

Of course, the very fact that Lady Lyanna was leaning over a body of water when she had no sight and could fall in at any given moment should have stirred some worry in Jaime’s hear, but for some reason it didn’t. He continued to watch the scene unfold.

The calm surface of the small pond was disturbed when, from its depths, something rose. Its head broke though first and then its flailing limbs. Jaime understood a moment later that it was that three-legged dog the distinguished lady insisted on keeping around although he was useless. His sister levelled a disgruntled stare at the beast who was struggling to make it to land, encouraged by its mistress.

“Come, Sixpence, you can do it,” Lady Lyanna was saying, leaning even further over that edge. Jaime wondered if she would fall in after all. It looked like a precarious position to be in and the Stark girl was not particularly helped by her senses.

“Lady Lyanna,” the Dornish Princess said, “I must insist that you come away from that animal. It is filthy. The gods only know what disease it carries.”

“Sixpence is not filthy,” the youngest of the three women insisted, her voice holding an offended quality to it, as if calling a mutt filthy was an attack upon her person. And to her it might have been. Jaime did not know Lyanna that well as to say aye or nay to that. “Come on boy!”

The dog finally made it to dry land, panting and shaking. He was dripping water all over. But the fact that the animal yet lived seemed to make Lyanna Stark very happy. Jaime sauntered on, catching Cersei’s eye. He gave her a soft smile and a nod, but she had only a frown for him. She beckoned him over.

“Jaime, do tell Lady Lyanna that the best is dangerous,” she pointed towards the dog. The animal was merely looking with large dark eyes at them, wagging its tail lazily. “And filthy.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call him filthy,” Jaime started, “give that he’s just had a bath.” Lady Lyanna laughed and her ever present guardian chuckled lightly. “As for dangerous, I imagine the poor thing is not even dangerous to rabbits.”

Cersei glared at him. “You are incorrigible,” she hissed out, crossing her arms over her chest to show her disappointment with him. “If you won’t aid me then be off.”

“I think he should stay,” Lyanna volunteered, “I have yet to make your acquaintance properly, Jaime Lannister.”

For a brief moment Jaime wondered if the girl was always so formal. He bowed to her and then felt foolish when remembering that she could not actually see him. But Lady Lyanna curtsied in response to his move, and if she did not quite face him, Jaime took no offence. She was not quite as Cersei had described her. In fact, Jaime wondered just how different she was.

But he did not have the necessary time to find out as another person joined their small group. This boy, a bit older than him, was Eddard Stark, brother to Lady Lyanna. Or at least so it was claimed. Yet Jaime thought that claim to be very much right, for they did look much like siblings would. That was, they were close in temper and closer in looks from what he could see.

The newcomer threw a bone to the beast that had curled itself at Lady Lyanna’s feet. “There you go, Sixpence, your reward.”

“Did the cook want to give you the bone?” Lyanna laughed. There was a certain rumour that the cook was a stingy sort.

Ned shook his head and laughed along with his sister before giving a reply that could be understood. “The cook was not pleased, but when I explained it was at your request, I swear he turned around to retrieve the bone so swiftly that I feared he’d break his neck.”

Apparently, Lady Lyanna was so well loved that the cook in charge had paced lemon cakes in a small basket and entrusted the treasure into the careful hands on Eddard Stark to be taken to Lady Lyanna. And Lyanna insisted that they all have some.

“I couldn’t possibly eat so many lemon cakes on my own,” she said by way of explanation, biting into one of confections. “You too, Arthur,” she spoke a moment later and Jaime wondered how she knew that Dayne had not even come close to the basket.

Perhaps she was a Northerner witch. Jaime looked closely at her. If the scrutiny bothered her, Lyanna did not show it. Perhaps she could not even feel it.

Cersei hit him in the ribs softly. “Why are you staring at her?” she whispered the question, her voice strangely taut.

“I am not,” Jaime denied just as softly. Except he had been.

Arthur Dayne stared at the two of them, his eyes narrowing slightly. He had given it to Lyanna’s demand that he have a lemon cake too. He held it in his hand, but his attention was not upon the food. Princess Elia brushed away some crumbs from Lyanna’s skirt and told her something which Jaime did not quite catch, not that he thought it had been anything of interest. He had met Arthur’s stare and something about it made him uneasy.

“Don’t lie to me,” his sister squeezed his hand, drawing his attention away from Dayne, Lyanna, Ned and Elia. “And do not look at her like that.”

Exasperated Jaime turned to face Cersei. He gave her a hard stare before taking another lemon cake from the basket and shoving it in his mouth, knowing how much that would annoy his sister. She huffed at him and took a cake of her own.

“A spar between siblings,” some was saying. Jaime’s head snapped towards the source only to see the Dornish Princess giggling and Lady Lyanna smiling. Their amusement was less detectable on Ned Stark’s face and Arthur Dayne looked more bored than intrigued.

“Come now, you two,” the Stark girl said in a calm voice, “’tis a beautiful day. Certainly too beautiful to waste on squabbling.”

“Well said,” Elia Martell agreed. “Let us instead see if there is any news of the King.”

At that Jaime stood to his feet. He hesitated a moment not knowing if he should help Lady Lyanna up or his own sister, but Ned Stark solved his dilemma by gently pulling Lyanna to her feet and locking his arm around hers.

***

Jaime was pulled aside by the guardian of Lyanna Stark as they were heading to the training grounds. Having spent much of the evening in the company of the three ladies and then being released by the gracious Lyanna, the three of them had made their way to the yard. Ned Stark had been quick to find some boy or another to practice with, but Jaime had not been given that chance.

“A moment, Jaime Lannister. I wish to speak to you,” Arthur said, handing him one of the two practice swords he had taken hold of.

Accepting the sword, Jaime looked with suspicion towards the other man. “Of course,” he murmured nonetheless. He would not show that he was at all bothered even if he was in a small measure.

“Have a care when in the company of Lady Lyanna Stark.” He had said as if he were simply commenting on the weather and not giving him a warning, but Jaime could see from his stance that Arthur Dayne was not at all pulling his leg. “Do not make me tell you again.”

He scowled. What was so special about Lyanna Stark, Jaime could not understand for the life of him. “Ser Dayne, if you are so fond of the lady, you should wed her,” he said half jokingly and half in spite.

Arthur laughed, throwing his head back. “You are just a child,” he commented after, “and you know nothing. Keep in mind what I have told you, Jaime Lannister, and perhaps you shall yet have an auspicious existence here in King’s Landing.”

What followed was perhaps the harshest training Jaime had ever received. Dayne exploited each and every one of his weaknesses. He forgave no mistake and did not spare Jaime any hits. It was, in other words, a lesson he would not be quick to forget.

But by the end of it something had changed in Arthur’s demeanour and he seemed almost friendly. “Not bad, Jaime Lannister. Not bad at all.” But beside him, Jaime knew that he had been barely adequate. It made him wonder why Arthur Dayne had not found his way into the Kingsguard. Yet he dared not ask.

They parted on a warmer tone than that in which they had met and Jaime would like to think that he had mad an impression upon the older knight. It was, after all, a matter of pride. Jaime remained with the other boys and Arthur presumably returned to his duty at the side of Lady Stark. Once again, Jaime found that thinking upon the subject of Lady Stark and the reason she apparently so important was giving him a migraine. He shook the thoughts away.

Cerwyn found him sometime later and challenged him once again, which Jaime accepted with great pleasure. He had had quite enough of losing for one day. Around them gathered the other boys, some cheering, some simply watching. And before them all, Jaime was champion again. As always, Cerwyn swore that he would win their next round, and Jaime wished him well of it. A few boys clapped their hands to his back enthusiastically while others asked to train with him. Jaime merely smiled and basked in their attention.

The absence of Tywin Lannister also meant that Cersei would sneak out of her bedchamber, except for when she bedded down with Lady Lyanna, and come see him. So Jaime bid a good evening to all his companions and made for his own rooms. Supervision was not quite as strict given that the small council was to care for the troubles of the realm and not those of children.

In his chambers, his sister was already waiting, a sullen looks upon her pretty features. “We must speak, you and I,” she began, reminding him of their father when he was in an unpleasant mood. Of course their father frightened him, whereas Cersei was more amusing than anything else.

“Must we?” Jaime questioned innocently, picking up an apple from the nearby table and biting into it to keep from bursting into laughter. He chewed on the fruit carefully, counting from then to one in his head. “And what should we speak of?” he pressed once his mouth was free.

“You know very well,” Cersei replied, her eyes narrowing in a menacing glare. “You were staring at her.” The insistence brought to mind the earlier episode form the day. Jaime could not help but smile. Incensed, Cersei jumped at her, nearly tackling her brother to the ground. “You were. You know you were, wretch.”

“So I was,” he finally admitted. “And what of it? I am not allowed to look at her?” His feigned outrage was meant to goad her and the Seven knew it worked so very well. “I shall stare at her all day long if I wish it.”

“You won’t,” she disagreed. “You will not do so. Or I shall,” Cersei stopped short apparently unable to find any fitting punishment for such an offence. But her cheeks glowed red with fury and she was trembling, looking ready to spit fire at him.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Jaime fell into a fit of laugher. He laughed and laughed until his stomach ached. He clutched his middle and continued to bask ion his merriment even as Cersei threw insults at his. It was utterly ridiculous and the kind thing to do would have been to correct her assumptions, but it was just too amusing.

“I hate you,: she finally spat out at him, turning away from his face. Small sobs emitted from her and then Jaime knew it was time to stop.

He gathered her in his arms, not minding that she fought his hold. “I apologise,” he said in his most sincere voice. “I did not mean to bring tears to your eyes. Sweet sister, you know I care for no one in this world but you.”

“You were staring at her,” she repeated her earlier statement.

“I thought she might be a witch,” Jaime confessed without even thinking too much upon it.

“Witches are old and they have warts,” Cersei scoffed. “Don’t look at her, Jaime. Or at that Dornish kitchen drab. Or anyone else. Don’t look at them.”

To appease her he promised he would not. And why would he when he had Cersei? “Worry not, I am yours.”

“You are,” his sister agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is a difficult character to write and most of the time, I'm completely lost when writing him. But I gave it my best, so hopefully this is an adequate Jaime. :)


	21. xxi. Rhaegar V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which this author turns her nose up at (fictional) historical accuracy...

Outside the tent a scuffle had broken out between a few men. Rhaegar did not particularly care for it, nor was he inclined to leave the Queen on her own and put an end to the noise. Yet he could not help feeling that it was so very different from the glorious endeavours the bard sang about.

In no song, to his knowledge, were the soldiers portrayed as drinking until their wits had left them and then maiming one another over matters of no value. Rhaegar had thought that the pride of a soldier was a great thing. He'd known they were, most of them, simple men. Yet even so, was it possible to act like they did?

The disillusionment came swiftly upon the heels of making camp before the Dun Fort. Those within the keep were protected, more or less, against attacks from outsiders, yet the settlements around the fort, those that were not surrounded by high walls, were left were left at the mercy of the soldiers. Which mercy, if truth be told, and Rhaegar had little problem in discerning and telling it, was not at all something that painted a good image of the King's army.

The soldiers had barely waited before jumping upon the villagers, demanding food from the inns and bed-warmers from the brothels. Rhaegar ad the suspicion that even some women who were not desirous of offering their services had been brought within camp. Of course, warning against any such behaviour had been given. Yet who could check upon all those men?

With a sigh, the Prince looked towards his mother. The Queen had not been sleeping well, and it was apparent in her face. She worried, he knew, about the King and about the realm and about the children she had left in King's Landing.

"What if we cannot save him?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "How will I explain his absence to the children?" She referred to his brother and Lyanna collectively as the children. Rhaegar had ceased to be included in that group upon reaching adulthood, though his mother did sometimes call him a child, to which he vehemently protested.

"Do not carry on so," he replied, wrapping an arm around her. "We will save him and everything shall be as it was."

And yet the distinct possibility of his father lying dead somewhere in Lord Darklyn's dungeons was as real as the image of his mother weeping before him. The worst was that nothing could be done about it. Not in the current conditions and not ever if they did not manage to somehow reach the King.

Though the army had surrounded Lord Darklyn's home, cutting him off from supply sources, the man had refused to declare himself defeated, preferring to remain behind the walls of his fortress. And he could do so because the king was his captive. Lord Darklyn swore that if the Prince and his army dared attack, he would send them the King's head on a platter. And so the whole united force of Rhaegar Targaryen and Tywin Lannister was made to sit outside the walls.

The men were growing restless. Idleness did not suit their taste. They'd come for battle and since battle did not look like it would come soon, they had turned their attention upon other matters, such as consorting with camp followers, drinking, fighting and thieving. Something had to be done. And soon. They were, all of them, losing their patience fast. Rhaegar released his mother from the hold and helped her into one of the chairs. He

"If we were to meet Lord Darklyn's demands," he tried once more to solve the issue with the help of diplomacy, "perhaps we could get the King to safety."

"Oh, my son, how naïve you are," the Queen answered him. "If we allow Lord Darklyn what he had asked for, he will only ask for more and more, using Aerys over and over again for his vile schemes and when he no longer needs anything he shall just go on for amusement. You know not much of human cruelty."

"There must be something we can do," he insisted. "Else we shall stay here as father perishes in that man's clutches."

The Queen worried her hands anxiously, rubbing them together, then clutching the folds f her heavy back dress. "I do not know, Rhaegar. I do not know. If I knew, you may be assured that I would be the first to suggest it." She continued to fret, unable to put her worries aside even for a few short moments.

Rhaegar knew it would do not good to insist upon something which she could not possibly give him in the current state she was in. "I shall go outside for a few moments, mother," he told her, "pay wait for my return and after we will speak t the Lord Hand."

"If only I were a ghost, to pass through stone and wood alike," the woman spoke quietly for herself, seemingly having forgotten about his presence. Rhaegar turned to gaze upon her but the Queen was shaking her head, urging him on. "Go, Rhaegar. Go and see to what you must and then come back. And we shall speak to Lord Tywin."

Nodding, he stepped outside and looked up at the clouded sky. There had been no rain, yet the sun refused to shine. Was it an omen? A message from the god? But that was foolish. Rhaegar shrugged and looked around. The soldiers had returned to their tents, some men had started drinking, a few were eagerly watching a game of chyvasse between two young lordlings and others were sharpening their swords.

It could not be denied that the atmosphere in camp was tense. The Prince merely hoped the coiled spring would not snap before the battle, for he was certain there would be some sort of altercation. He walked forward, nodding at those lords who offered their greetings, and searched for Ser Oswell Whent. The man should have returned by now.

And indeed the Kingsguard had returned, dragging behind him a tall young woman with messy hair. Rhaegar watched them approach and tried not to be too surprised. After all, it was not something out of the ordinary.

"Your Grace, the King spent the night in the inn of this girl's parents," Ser Oswell reported, bringing the woman to stand next to him.

***

Tywin Lannister levelled a hard glare at the man standing to his right. Rhaegar was surprised the poor fellow didn't burst in flames on spot. The Seven knew he certainly looked red enough that people might think him on fire. But the unkind thought was swept away soon enough. The Prince leaned over the map the Lord Hand had brought and peered down at it.

Had they been able to siege the keep properly they might have tried taken down the walls. Yet fear of causing injury to the King stayed even the bravest of men from trying anything. The Prince thought upon his mother's words. A ghost would have been, indeed, a blessing.

All around him the men had begun a heated discussion upon which methods would serve them better. None were quite sure what to do and not one of them dared suggest that they charge at the gates of the fort anyway. The King had an heir and had he been a man hated by his people they might have left him to rot in the dungeons and crowned the son. Yet Aerys well loved.

"I say we give the man his right and whatnot. If it allows us to get the King out of that hole safely," someone suggested brazenly, as if the solution had only then just occurred to him. "He does not ask for so much, after all."

That failed to impress the fellow lords gathered there. "You are a fool if you think that," another man answered. "Besides, who is this Lord Darklyn that the king himself would bend knee to him and give him whatever his heart desired?"

The distaste in his voice fuelled a few more of his comrades who hurried to agree. "We should crush him the moment he makes out the gates," a third voice joined in. "That would show him." His fellow countrymen cheered him on. "And then let us dismantle every brick that makes up this keep. Let all remember the power of the King."

As far as speeches went they were all admirable, Rhaegar would not deny that. Yet there was something which not one of the speakers had considered. And that was the impracticality and downright impossibility of their plans. Thankfully, the lord Hand was quick to assure each and ever one of them of their stupidity.

"You fools. Do so and we shall bury the King among the rubble." There was no great love lost between his father and Tywin Lannister, but the Lord Hand depended upon the goodwill of the King and mayhap thought that saving his life could ensure that tie with the Targaryen House which he so desired. "If you cannot be of use, then you had best keep quiet and let those wiser than you run their mouths."

No one offered another plan and from the looks of it they had a hard time thinking about one. They were not to be blamed, though. Rhaegar watched the face of every man present and wondered, not for the first time, whether with such men the realm would survive should his father find his end. But such thoughts did not do him well, so the young Prince chased them away.

A heavy silence fell upon them all, a bitter, biting, clawing thing that rang out like a remonstration. It cried out for satisfaction, but received no answer whatsoever.

To the shock of everyone present one of the Kingsguards stepped forward, his heavily armoured body looking even bulkier in the low light, Rhaegar looked at Ser Barristan Selmy and waited, not without a hint of impatience, to learn the meaning of his gesture. The answer was quick to come.

"Your Grace, my lords," the man began, clearing his throat lightly, "I should like to propose a way of saving the King myself, if I may." Ser Barristan was despite his worth as a knight still somewhat shy of expressing his opinions even when asked directly for them. It was interesting that he would volunteer a plan of his own.

At a nod if lord Tywin's head, the man began. "The most important thing would be to get in undetected. There are few those to whom no one would look twice at, and to mind comes the beggar." Confusion on the faces of some lords made him smile. "I should like to be given this honour, Your Grace," he spoke directly to Rhaegar. "Allow me to dress up as the earlier mentioned character and rescue His Majesty."

The whole tent lapsed into silence. Rhaegar considered the words of the man. A beggar, a ghost. Indeed, he would be as close to a ghost as humanly possible. Standing up from his seat, Rhaegar spoke out. "Ser Barristan, the plan of yours is a sound one and I should not dream of refusing you the glory of it." The Kingsguard looked pleased. "And I myself will join you."

Gasps from all around rang in the Prince's ears. "Your Grace, that is not possible," Tywin Lannister tried to dissuade him. "It is too dangerous a thing to be attempted. Let Ser Barristan go on his own."

But Rhaegar shook his head, not at all impressed by that argument. "Ser Barristan, I doubt neither your skill, nor your devotion to the King. I come with you to aid in the rescue." The explanation was as much for the benefit of those within hearing as for the knight's ears. "Think not that I haven't trust in you."

"Your Grace honours me," Barristan Selmy answered, no doubt understanding very well that the Prince would not change his mind on the matter. As for the others, they would simply have to accept the decision for what it was.

"Tell us more of this plan," one lord asked.

"It is no complicated matter," came the answer. "First we shall disguise ourselves as the poorest of people. Then we should scale the walls. Once inside, finding the dungeon is easily accomplished. There we shall free the King and return with him outside."

"If possible, leave the gates open," the Lord Hand added.

But Rhaegar much doubted they would be able to do so. Lord Darklyn had quite a number of men within those walls. He did not, however, say anything to that. Instead, he ordered that appropriate garb be found and that maesters be ready to serve the King upon their return.

"Let us not waste anymore time then," the Prince said. "Come, my good ser." And Selmy followed, the armour clinking gently as he went. Once outside, Rhaegar asked, "What is our chance?"

Perhaps unable to lie, Barristan Selmy coughed uncomfortably. "Slim, Your Grace. Very slim."

"I see." And he did. But Rhaegar would not allow that to stop him.

***

The rough material scratched unpleasantly against his skin. But it covered him from head to toe, effectively hiding in a shadow any distinctive feature that might hinder him in the attempt of rescuing his father. Rhaegar tried not to think too much upon what would happen if they failed. Yet even if it came to that, he had brothers to carry on the legacy of their house.

What worried him, however, was the situation Lyanna would find herself in, should they meet with resounding failure. She had been promised so much, and not only by him. Who would protect her if he and the King were no longer? The Queen was powerful in her own right, but she would need allies to keep Daeron on the throne. And Lord Stark was not a proper ally. So Lyanna would not be a likely choice in such circumstances.

"Your Grace," the Kingsguard whispered harshly, handing him a piece of rope. "It is time to climb."

They had made it to the walls of the keep without any problem. No one had looked their way even once. Encouraging as that was, the true test was just ahead on them. Rhaegar nodded his head, took the rope and together they started the arduous climb.

It took some time and quite a bit of searching through the thick darkness, but somehow both of them made it unscathed to the top. There, Ser Barristan jumped upon the guard on duty and snapped the man's neck with such swiftness that he had probably not understood what had happened. They dragged the body into the shadows and hurried down the stairs, hiding their faces with the help of their hoods.

The two of them made their way through the darkness. The Dun Fort was not extremely large. That meant they would not have a very hard time of finding the dungeons. Rhaegar looked around, ruefully committing to memory everything that he could in such a short time. They snuck unobserved through darkened halls. No one paid much mind to beggars, of course; Ser Barristan had been perfectly right about that.

A guard passed them, coming up a flight of stairs. He was yelling something back to a man that had presumably remained down there to do his duty. "And give him some water. The Lord will have our heads if he dies."

"He's dead anyway," the other replied.

Rhaegar resisted the urge to lay the man where he stood, for in his mind he did not doubt they spoke about his father. But, along with his companion, he waited for the man to disappear down the hall before taking the way of the stairs. The guard at the foot of the steps made to shoo them away but Rhaegar, agile as a cat, knocked the man's head into the wall with such strength that he was laid flat a moment later.

That done, they took the keys off of him and opened the door. It led into a narrow corridor where many other doors presumably led into cells. An unpleasant smell attached his nose and Rhaegar held his breath for a few moments in hopes that the dizziness it produced would disappear.

With no choice but to check the cells one by one, they opened the first. It was empty. The second one too. The third one had a man in it but he had been dead for quite some time and was in the process of decomposing. They locked the door back and moved to the fourth cell. Luck was on their side for inside was indeed the King himself. He had taken cover in a corner and was pressing one hand against what looked to be an injured arm.

Rhaegar bolted inside, holding a torch in his hand. The King stared at him disoriented. "If you have come to kill me, be quick about it," he rasped, voice sounding oddly thick.

The Prince bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing. Instead, he pushed back his hood. "No one shall kill you, Your Majesty, not I while I draw breath."

At the sight of his son, the King allowed past his lips a strangled stream of words. Rhaegar, not having the patience or the time to make sense of what he said, made do with helping his father to his feet and then out of the cell. Ser Barristan climbed up the stairs ahead of them, so as to better protect the King.

They were unfortunate enough to happen in the path of a guard making his rounds and though the Kingsguard slew him where he stood, the man had managed to sound out his horn, thus alerting his people of the intrusion. Those close by attempted to stop them. But neither Rhaegar, nor Ser Barristan looked particularly ready to fail, having come so far.

Drawing out his own weapon, Rhaegar fought as best as he could, and in the end they managed to clear a path to the stables. Those who tried to stop them were treated to cutting steel and possibly fatal wounds. Each of them mounted a horse and the three made their way through the yard, Rhaegar and Selmy cutting soldiers left and right, the King riding between them. There was not a man that could stand in their way and before long not even one was trying.

They sped past the gates before they could be barred and rode through the dark and narrow streets of Duskendale to the outer walls and then finally onto the grassy plains where. Behind them shouts could be heard. Yet none would dare follow them beyond the walls of Duskendale, for they had all seen the host that waited there.

Free at last of their pursuers they galloped into camp. There the King was led into the tent especially prepared for his arrival. Rhaegar, of course, had allowed his mother to be the first to rush in after her husband. He waited outside intent upon giving them a moment of privacy. Surely there were some things which could only be said between husband and wife.

The Hand of the King arrived shortly after and maesters rushed behind him, each of the carrying small trays of Rhaegar knew not what.

"The King," Lord Tywin said, more a question than anything else.

"Has arrived as safely as can be," Rhaegar responded.

The maesters bowed but walked past then quickly. They entered the tent and Rhaegar prayed the gods that all would be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you, but I'm glad this part is over and done with. And now that the King had been saved and is quite safe, we can move on to other perils and answer other important questions.
> 
> If anyone had anything to comment, a question to pose or anything else, those little buttons beneath will help.
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter. :)


	22. xxii. Ned III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I am so tired. Please, do excuse the mistakes. I'll probably correct them later.

His brother’s barely legible scrawl filled what must have at one point been pristine paper. Ned squinted his eyes and mouthed the words as he read them, trying to make sense of what Brandon wished to say. The fact that he had to sped a few good minutes upon each words was more than frustrating and not at all how he had envisioned spending his time.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, hoping that if he rested his eyes, upon returning them to the paper, the letter world miraculously straighten themselves out. Maester Wallys had tried helping his older brother with his penmanship and, of course, he’d failed. Brandon was not at all interested in writing. Had the maester offered to teach him sword fighting, the eldest of Lord Stark’s sons would have undoubtedly been only too happy to learn.

As it was, there was no helping his brother. Ned glanced once more towards the message. He rubbed his eyes and, finally defeated, concentrated all his attention on it. He wondered, with a hint of annoyance if it would not be better for Brandon to dictate whatever he wished to write and for someone else to wield the quill.

Setting about his work, the young man managed, not without some difficulty, to decipher the mangled script. If ever one was to represent a war through words, Ned was certain that his brother’s writing, with all those letters knocking shields together, stabbing one another and falling to their death, would be the perfect way to go about it. Yet that was not what was important. What was important was the fact that, having finally learned that his younger brother was in King’s Landing at the side of their sister, Brandon was very much interested in hearing about said sister.

To which Ned was ready to reply that should Brandon wish to learn about their sister, he should convince their father to come to King’s Landing. Of Lyanna he gave little to no detail. It was dine more from the slightly impulsively selfish desire of a younger son to affirm himself before an heir. It was certainly not that Ned Stark meant to hurt the feelings of anyone, but he did wish to cause Brandon to fret somewhat. Pride, of course, spurred him on. He had finally won something. And it felt good.

Ned placed his quill in the inkwell. He had spoken to Lyanna many a time about Winterfell, but he had never written home about her, nor had he, in his correspondence with Robert, spoken much of his sister. Whether that was because he hadn’t had cause to, or because he did not want to, Ned refused to analyse. Either way, Lyanna had promised that she would ask for the King’s permission to visit her birthplace and should the King allow it, Ned knew just what he wanted her to experience.

If it was at all possible. Not being entire ignorant and not being quite so wrapped up in his own existence, he was aware that the recent ordeal that the King had been through might make him hesitant when it came to such a proposal. And Lyanna herself might wish to remain in King’s Landing until matters settled over.

A knock on the door interrupted his musings. “Come in,” Ned called out, not bothered overly much by it.

In came a person Ned had not expected to see. Jaime Lannister strode into the chamber with an easy grin on his face. “What are you doing, Stark?” he nodded towards the quill, ink and parchment. “Writing home, are you?”

“If I were, I would not be telling you,” Ned answered in such a way that it was clear he had not been offended by the question. “What do you want?”

The young lion rolled his eyes. “I do not want anything. The others, however, were wondering if you would come with us on a little adventure.”

“Adventure?” Ned questioned. The whole matter seemed dubious to him. “Tell me about this adventure.”

Jaime smirked. It looked out of place on the face of a child, that kind of smile. “Nothing too dangerous, Septa. You needn’t worry. We were simply planning to find a gift for the Dornish Princess. I was to wed her once. ‘Tis only fair that I act courteous.”

Such words only made Ned more suspicious. Jaime Lannister was not a bad sort. He was hard-working, deft and quite skilled. The fact that he would almost always keep company with his sister and be generally very close to her had not been something Ned paid much mind to, given that he himself enjoyed a rather tight bond with his own present sibling. Yet, unlike him, Jaime seemed not at all opposed to intervene in what were personal quarrels of his sister.

Princess Elia Martell was not the most beloved person to have ever graces the halls of the Red Keep. His very own sister, Lyanna, was not much in favour of the Dornish royalty remaining by her side for much longer, and she had been quite vocal about it to Ned. It was surprising in a way, for Lyanna had been, in his mind, a quiet, demure thing, more enduring than belligerent; yet it seemed that like every rose bred in the North, she had some thin steely thorns. The roses native to the frozen lands of his forefathers boasted, unlike Southron roses, a certain type of thorns. They were of a lean kind, sharp and unyielding, reminiscent of fish bones in appearance. And their bite stung for days on end.

His sister was that sorts of flower. When someone angered or offended her, she would shrink back into herself and display her weapons.

Supposing it his duty to keep them other boys out of too much trouble, Ned agreed to join them on their hunt for a present. “Pray do not do anything foolish,” she said as they went into the corridor together.

“Worry not,” Jaime laughed. “It is only for amusement, Stark. We cannot, all of us, be as serious as you all the time.”

If there was something mean about the comment, Ned chose to ignore it. He stepped past Jaime and clambered down the stairs. Many of those who had decided to join Jaime were waiting in one of the side halls. At the sight of Ned some smiled and beckoned him towards them.

“Good of you to join us,” someone commented softly.

***

Lyanna frowned at him, her full lips twisting in a grimace. “That is so very childish,” she complained. The spark of amusement had not yet gone out of her face. Ned was not at all certain about how he should interpret her reaction.

What Jaime had ended up doing had been, indeed, childish and quite dangerous. They had found a small snake in the gardens, one that was not poisonous and somehow they’d trapped the poor creature and brought it inside to be released in the Maidenvault, straight into Elia Martell’s rooms. Ned remember Jaime mutter something about Oberyn Martell being a snake and that his sister was much the same.

How Jaime had come by such intelligence, the young Stark did not particularly wish to know. Given that the only danger in the scheme was them being caught, he’d gone along with it, more out of curiosity than anything else. He held himself above such petty revenge plots.

Should Jaime wish to aid his sister in whatever dispute she had with other maidens, it was his own choice and he had every right to act as he wished. Ned, on the other hand, had decided that protecting his sister meant keeping her out of harm’s way, not doing anything and everything for her. If Lyanna had quarrels with anyone, it fell to her to straighten them out. He could offer advice, kind words, a shoulder to cry on, but ultimately it was his sister who had to choose her own road.

As for the snake, it had found its way into Princess Elia’s room, whereupon, being discovered by a servant girl, the poor beast came to the attention of the mistress of those rooms and was promptly chased outside with much shrieking and many tears from the females.

Yet the misadventures of the reptile were far from over. After it had somehow traversed the hall, it made its way into Cersei Lannister’s rooms. The gods had a rather wicked sense of retribution, Ned could not help thinking. Unlike Elia Martell, who was apparently familiar with such animals, Cersei, when she discovered the intruder, abandoned her room with all possible haste, considerately leaving the door open for the guest to be on its way when it should tire of the scenery.

But, of course, another person benefited from the visit of this tiny harmless creature. And that was Lyanna herself. His sister had not seen the snake, yet, as it had crept into her room, slithering along the wall like a thief in the night, it somehow crawled its way up into her bed, and Lyanna had the misfortune of, through some accident of fate, press her hand upon its tail end. That had resulted in her getting bitten by it, which in turn had caused much panic and fright. For, while any other person might have been able to describe the snake and thus assess whether or not they might have been poisoned, his sister was utterly unable of doing it.

The culprit was caught soon enough, making its way down the hall, happy as a lark, as if it hadn’t committed a heinous crime. Fettered and bound, the creature was brought before the maester, that was old Pycelle, for no one but he was to care for Lyanna’s health, and he, after a careful examination, determined that the snake was not poisonous.

Thus informed that she would live, Lyanna magnanimously had the creature returned back into the gardens whence it came. Her arm, however, still bore the marks of the assault she had suffered. Anxious to keep his head on his shoulders, Pycelle had the wound cleaned and bandaged and Lyanna was instructed not to leave the bed for at least the remainder of the day.

“I am much shocked,” Ned admitted, as he continued to look at his sister. “Had that creature bitten anyone else, they would have had it chopped to pieces and possibly cooked.”

She laughed. “Cooked, that is absurd,” Lyanna said. “And why should I kill it when the poor animal was not at fault here. Had it not been for some mischievous boys, none of this would have happened.”

His sister was truly a wonder, Ned considered. Of course when news had spread that she had been bitten by a snake, all had wondered how a snake could have possibly reached her rooms. None of the boys had had anything to say of it, even Jaime had tried his very best to go about unnoticed. Unable to leave Lyanna in the dark, Ned had, at the first possible occasion, told her the whole tale.

Lyanna had been understandably shocked, quite put out and even a little angry. Yet for all that when asked if she knew anything, she had vehemently denied all knowledge. Even though she had known. She had saved them all from more than just a good beating. For no doubt, Pycelle would have had them all whipped, which in itself was not fatal, but when the King returned harsher punishments would have likely awaited them.

“And you will not tell anyone of this?” he insisted. “You are certain?”

“Sometimes, it is best to show mercy. Their intention was not to cause harm, to me or to anyone really. So why should I cause them harm?” cam her sage reply. “Retaliating to an attack is one thing; it is natural to desire satisfaction when one has been wounded by a party that had intended to cause pain. But this is not it.”

He glanced at her bandaged hand. “I do wonder what your brave Princes will have to say of this?”

Had the three Targaryen Princes been present, Ned was sure things would have gone on differently. But the High Septon had taken all but young Viserys to Baelor’s Sept and Viserys, being a child, knew not what all the commotion had been about and likely no one would tell him.

“Gods be good, I hope no one tells them.” Lyanna knew them well enough to imagine their reaction. She scrunched her nose. Ned was inclined to agree.

Unfortunately, news travelled fast, and little Princes with a taste for blood even faster, apparently. Not much time later, they were treated to the presence of a shrieking Daeron, a weeping Aegon and a red-faced Jaehaerys, all of whom clambered on Lyanna’s bed.

Ned thanked the gods that he had decided to sit in a chair next to the bed.

His sister, of course, was on the receiving end of a cacophony of questions which she could not even keep but with. Answering was out of the question.

“Gods,” Ned muttered under his breath, “now we only need the Kingsguard in here.”

***

It was decided from that moment on that Lyanna should not be left alone even for one moment. Ned had attempted explaining to the High Septon and his crowd that it was something his sister would not appreciate. His words were dismissed out of hand, of course. Arthur Dayne had been none too pleased by the doubt such a decision casted on his ability to protect his charge, but the combined power of the High Septon, Maester Pycelle and the Master of Laws won over in the end.

This move was a fairly smart one, to be fair. Those men were concerned for their necks, keeping Lady Lyanna safe meant that they would keep their heads where they were, thus the solution. Two Septas were engaged to be at his sister’s beck and call, to never leave her side and to make sure, above all else, that no other reptiles found their way into her bed. After all, a maiden’s bed could only admit another maiden or a Septa until her wedding night, upon which it would admit, naturally, a husband. No one had ever said anything about reptiles.

Far from amused or pleased by that decision, Lyanna was obliged to follow it nonetheless. Her small retinue, which had until that point been manageable, became somewhat of a nightmare. It came to the attention of the two Septas that Princess Elia enjoyed flirting with the young men about and that her Dornish stories would, from time to time, suggest sinful behaviour. In a display of colossal concern for their mistress, the two older women tried to dissuade the Princess from filling the ears of an innocent with such lurid details.

Ned had almost choked on a bite of an apple when they interrupted Elia’s story of some lord or another having taken a mistress to tell her that the Seven did not condone such shameful behaviour. Had Ned even thought his sister knew what shameful behaviour they were speaking of, he might have agreed. As it was, Lyanna had simply not been around enough experienced people. The confusion on his sister’s face had nearly done him in.

Later, when she had asked him, innocently, what was so objectionable about a story, Ned found himself utterly unable to explain to her that in the eyes of the gods not all love in every one of its forms was acceptable. He had, however, consoled her by telling her she would learn all that she needed to know when she became a wife herself.

“And you are certain you cannot teach me?” she had asked dejectedly. The answer was a negative one, with much emphasis from Ned.

“Trust me. You will know when you must.” Seeing that she could not convince him, his sister had shrugged and seemingly given up on that. Ned hoped it would last. Though it was difficult to tell with Lyanna.

The care provided by the Septas did not stop there, however. To ensure that her maidenly soul and thereby her virtue would not be touched by anything remotely suspicious, the two crones made sure that Lyanna was forever in the company of one or both of them when receiving male visitors. Not even the youngest of the King’s children were exempt.

“You must be very pleased,” Ned told her jokingly, having snuck into her room upon the second week of her imprisonment. It had taken skill and courage, but, given that she was his only sister, Ned had willingly braved the corridors of the keep and the snores of the two old Septas.

“This is no joking matter,” his sister whispered harshly. “They will not even allow Sixpence into the room at night. I tell you, Ned, they are deranged.”

“Not even Sixpence.” Laughter choked him. He helped his sister outside the room. Assuming the most serious face he could produce and speaking in the most annoying voice possible, he set about imitating one of Lyanna’s gaolers, “My lady, that beast is no proper companion. Look at its beady eyes, how they shine with then weight of his sins.” They both broke into laughter, muffled by their hands.

“Truly, ‘tis so,” Lyanna told him. “They have even driven poor Arthur insane. I do not think he shall last much longer.” Arthur was, of course, to continue doing his duty by Lyanna, yet he was to do so from a very safe distance away from her.

The measures were all exaggerated. It was rather like watching a fool trying to juggle with three pitchers too many. “Perhaps they mean to drive you insane,” Ned offered, not at all serious. “After all,” he whispered, “of what use is an insane lady?” Lyanna had not hesitated to share with him the reason for her continual stay in King’s Landing, not the plans which the royal family had for her.

Understanding his meaning very well, Lyanna nodded her head. “Do you think it could be the hand of those pesky Dornish?” she questioned back, laughter still clinging to her words. She too treated the matter as if it were a jest.

“I should think ‘tis the Lannisters,” Ned replied. “Think only, this could be part of an elaborate plan to discredit you.” Politics were his weak, Ned knew. Yet the very plan, in his mind, seemed a distinct possibility. After all, in King’s Landing little was as it appeared and Jaime’s excuse might have been just that; an excuse.

Perhaps sensing the change in his mood, Lyanna touched her hand to his. Her mien lost its merry note. “Think not upon such matters. The King shall return to us soon and all will be well again.”

The King would indeed. Or so Grand Maesters Pycelle claimed, after having received a message, brought by a raven in the dead of the night. “And when he does, he’ll do gracious thing by you and send the harpies away.”

“If he does, I will be much inclined to build him a temple and name him the best king that ever was.” Once more they laughed, the two unknowing children, assured in their innocence that the world was a bright place and that any hardships could be overcome with a jest and a smile. And who was there to tell them differently?

Ned returned Lyanna to her temporary cage with great care. It would not do to wake up the two ogres, or they would devour both siblings and possibly pick their teeth with what remained of the bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something light and (almost) sweet before the storm.
> 
> I hope this was as fun for you to read as it was for me to write.


	23. xxiii. Lyanna V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear...

Lyanna tried not to be too worried when a weeping Jaehaerys was being called after by one of her new companions. She sat up in bed and lowered the blanket, listening for the telltale sound of footsteps approaching. She was not disappointed.

The door burst open with a loud sound and a few moments later, she was engulfed in the embrace of a crying child who speech was so jumbled that she could not make sense of it though she did try listening to what he said. Like custom dictated, she wrapped her own arms around him and tried to calm his down.

“What is the matter?” she asked, ignoring the shrill voice of the Septa that had entered her room.

“My lady, you are unwell. His Grace should not be here,” the sour woman insisted, momentarily breaking Lyanna’s concentration.

For her part, Lyanna curled her lips in dismay. “I am perfectly capable of making such decisions on my own, good Septa, and I say that I wish to speak to his Grace. If you would be so kind as to give us a few moments.”

Having thus dismissed the intruders, Lyanna set about brushing the boy’s hair back with careful strokes. “There, there,” she cooed gently, “there is no need to weep. Come, tell me what has saddened you so.”

“I am not sad,” Jaehaerys answered in a suspiciously cheerful voice. “Nor am I crying.” Lyanna could have sworn he had been. Thankfully, she did not have to ask for clarifications, for Jaehaerys was prepared to tell her everything. “Daeron sent me to scout.”

“To scout?” she repeated, somewhat confused.

“Aye, to scout.” Jaehaerys hugged her even tighter. “We shall get rid of those two pests at the door.” For a young boy, he was awfully eloquent when it came to such matters. Lyanna shuddered but did not interrupt. “Thy will run for the hills and then we’ll be able to visit when we want.”

In truth, Lyanna too had contributed somewhat to her isolation. She had told one of the Septas that she was not feeling quite well. Having blamed a headache for her disposition, she’d been ordered to bed, which Lyanna had been quite happy to do, given that sleep had eluded her for much of the previous night for some reason or another. She had not, however, considered that it could cause others to worry over her health.

All visitors that came at her door were swiftly turned away by the two holy women, including Cersei Lannister and Elia Martell. Amused as Lyanna had been at first, then whole ordeal became tiresome. And given that Pycelle was the only person they allowed in without question, Lyanna was just about ready to take desperate measures. The timely rescue, from possibly serious injuries, conducted by the Princeling had been of help not only to Lyanna. That said, she was hesitant to allow the tree Princes to run about, trying to rid the Red Keep of the two women.

The choice was taken out of her hands, of course. Yells of panic and distress rang out from outside the door to which Lyanna’s natural reaction was to be startled. She jumped down from her bed, walked towards the door and opened it wide. “What is the meaning of this?” she called out, blissfully unknowing of what was going on.

“Lady Lyanna,” she heard the voice of Cersei Lannister, “you are better?” Lyanna could not decide if there was regret in that voice or something else.

“I should think I am,” she replied nonetheless. “What goes on there, Lady Cersei?”

Laughter from somewhere ahead could be heard. At her back, Jaehaerys clutched the material of her dress, as if to stop her from moving. “The two poor Septas,” Elia Martell answered her, “they seem to have had a most unfortunate accident.”

Utterly flabbergasted, Lyanna attempted to remain calm. “What sort of accident?” She had an idea, of course, but detail could not hurt.

“It seems a hive has somehow made its way into the room they were sharing.” The Princess seemed genuinely impressed. Lyanna herself was much impressed. A hive was a generous thing to handle. “Septa Spera, I believe it was she, somehow upset the creatures, and they attacked. Her sister did not escape unscathed.”

The bees kept within the palace grounds were small in size, few in number and not venomous. Lyanna thanked the gods for that. “Then I am left without protectors?” she questioned hopefully.

“Of course not,” Cersei responded, “we shall protect you, my lady.”

“How brave of you,” Lyanna returned lightly. “As for you, my young Prince,” she said, turning around slightly, “I believe you wish to say something to me.”

Jaehaerys, of course, knew well enough what to say. “I apologise for lying,” he groused without much feeling. He was not sorry at all for deceiving her. “You would have stopped us if I hadn’t.” That explanation did not earn Lyanna’s approval.

“Regardless, Your Grace, ‘tis better to be silent in such cases.” Yet, eager to show her appreciation for the gesture, Lyanna had the boy in her arms mere moments later. “I say we all go outside,” she proposed, releasing the young child.

“That sounds very well, indeed,” the Dornish Princess approved, “and shall continue my story, if you should wish it.”

”It is a splendid story,” Cersei admitted after a short hesitation.

“If it comes so highly recommended, I would not dream of dissuading Your Grace,” she offered with a small shrug. After hearing night after night about the Seven, Lyanna was certain she would be much obliged to Elia for any sort of story she had to offer.

“Do call your brothers,” she instructed the little Prince who had begun fretting at her side. “I believe they too have been waiting to see me.”

More than pleased with his mission, Jaehaerys Targaryen took to the halls, running as fast as his feet could carry him, Lyanna imagined. “Was anyone terribly injured?” She would have felt impossibly ill at ease had she had asked at least to know that.

“Nay, nothing that ointment cannot take care of,” the Princess laughed. “I must admit, Lady Lyanna, you do inspire the oddest behaviours in these dragonlings.”

There was a moment of silence as Lyanna allowed then words to sink in. She gave a shaky smile. The meaning had not escaped her.

***

“Are they near now?” Lyanna asked for what must have been the hundredth time, shifting about impatiently. It was a wonder that Arthur had not yet asked her to hold her tongue. But given that Arthur had learned the art of patience when dealing with the two harpies, who were thankfully ordered to rest, she could understand the high tolerance.

“Aye, my lady. Soon, the Kingsguard shall make its way in.” The answer settled her nerves somewhat.

She had been very lad when news that the King had been saved finally reached them. As such, she could not understand why the King would not make haste and return home. When she had questioned Arthur upon the matter, he merely replied that the King had remained on in Duskendale to punish the crimes of the unfaithful Lord Draklyn.

Soon enough, the Red Keep was filled with all manners of rumour. It was whispered that the King had had Lord Darklyn’s keep dismantled, that all women and children had been slaughtered, that Lord Tywin himself had acted as executioner for Denys Darklyn, that the King had burned Lady Serala at the stake after having cut her tongue out and her female parts. They were rather gruesome tales.

Cersei Lannister claimed no knowledge of such, but admitted that they might be true. Her father had at one point erased an entire House from the map of Westeros. It seemed a cruel and barbaric thing to do, on the one yet. Yet if one considered the threat such families posed, it was perhaps kinder to sacrifice a few for the benefit of many, though it was not moral in the least.

Be that as it may, Cersei knew nothing about what had gone on at Duskendale, save for the odd bits of information that reached them every now and again.

Elia Martell knew even less. The Dornish Princess claimed that her own people had not intervened one way or another in the matter, and as such they had little knowledge to give her. What went unsaid was that Dorne much feared the King’s reaction upon his return. Past transgressions had not been forgotten, nor were they likely to. If the Princess was quieter, casting her lot with the shadows, none glanced at her stranger than before.

But that meant that Lyanna was left in the uncomfortable position of not knowing what was going on. It frustrated her to no end. But there was nothing she could do, though, so she made the best of it, by convincing herself over and over again that if cruelty was needed then the King would know the limits that should be applied. Or at least such had always been Lyanna’s impression of the man who acted as a father towards her.

Raised with his affectionate words and unfailing care, it seemed a strange thing to her that he could be cruel, unjust or unkind. How easy it was to think of those one admired as saintly figures. And yet the accounts that had travelled back to the court and its inhabitants painted such a picture of revenge and suffering.

“I cannot endure this much longer,” Lyanna found herself saying. “Arthur, where is my brother?” Ned said he would return soon.

“Close by, my lady,” her companion assured her. Lyanna sighed softly.

She could finally hear the hooves of the horses beating a rhythm against the ground. The sound was growing louder and louder, a horn was blown from somewhere nearby. Cheers rose from those around her.

The King had truly returned.

For some time, whispers filled the premises. Lyanna waited to hear something that might tell her what was going on. She was satisfied when a small company rode forward. They announced the arrival of His Majesty the King and communicated the ruler’s wishes that his children be brought forward.

“They have arrived,” Arthur told her once the Kingsguards made their way past the gate, the King riding in the protective circle they had formed about his. The Queen, Lyanna was told, rode with the Prince. “Thank the Seven.”

“How does the King look, Arthur?” Lyanna could not help asking. Of course they would have taken care of him before the journey began, yet it stood to reason that wounds healed in accordance with their gravity. There came no answer to her question and worry seized her heart, squeezing the poor organ until it felt like it might explode. “Arthur,” she called his attention, thinking that perhaps he’d forgotten.

“My lady,” her companion began, “the King has been injured, I fear. As to his looks, he is alive and one would presume him whole, but I confess there is something weak about the way he handles himself.”

If he looked whole then it stood to reason that he would be whole. Lyanna heard the chorused greeting levelled at Aerys and bowed too, as she knew had to be done. But the King did not seem to care much for the officious receiving. He called forth his children.

“Lady Lyanna Stark, why do you hide? Has it so long that you have forgotten proper behaviour?” Such was her own personal greeting. Blushing to the tips of her ears, Lyanna strode forward more out of habit than anything else. Thankfully, Arthur was close enough to guide her steps.

At least he had not lost the teasing disposition he seemed to be so very at home with when in her presence. It had to be a good sign. “Your Majesty, we are all very glad for your safe return.”

It was the Queen who wrapped her arms around Lyanna and kissed her cheeks. And in her ear, she whispered, “The King shall make an announcement. Do not be surprised.”

A hand was pressed gently atop the crown of her head, and the King’s voice rose loud above the din. “My good lord, recent events have caused for us more strife than words can depict; unrest had shaken the foundation of this realm. Yet we have prevailed.”

Enthusiastic, the lords of the realm approved the wording and, of course, the victory. The King continued. “For this reason, I think it proper that peace follow war, and joy comes on the heels of grief. Thus, let it be known that in seven moon’s turns King’s Landing hosts for those brave and skilled a tourney.”

Whether or not it was noted that Lyanna had once more been claimed by the King as being part of his own family, Lyanna could not say. But perhaps the lords had grown insensible to it and as such thought it no threat to them and their plans whichever those were. Barely holding back a smile, Lyanna’s fingers twisted into the folds of her dress gently.

“Did you hear?” Daeron asked her, strangely out of breath. “There will be a tourney.”

***

“Leave us for the moment, Arthur,” Lyanna heard Rhaegar say. The door opened and closed, and she was left alone, in the company of the King’s first son. He had mentioned that he wished to speak to her and since then Lyanna had been quite unable to sit still. A feeling welled inside of her, difficult to explain. She inhaled deeply.

Decorum the furthest matter from her mind, Lyanna rushed directly to him, knowing by habit where he would be, and held her arms open wide. Not one to disappoint, Rhaegar picked her up in his own arms and held her securely as she hugged her limbs around his neck. “You are returned. You truly are.” It was more for her benefit than for his Lyanna spoke the words, as a way of convincing herself of their veracity.

“So I am,” Rhaegar assured her nonetheless. They spent a few moment in utter silence; one of them yet too joyful for coherent speech, the other not quite knowing how to put the problem forward. But, as such a mood could not last, forever, Rhaegar proceeded to speak. “The King had reached a decision, Lyanna, regarding our status within the court.”

Her attention engaged, Lyanna asked to be put down. “What mean you, our status?” His words could be taken as meaning one of two things, either that the King wished to proceed with binding them together, or that the King had changed his mind and wished to wed Rhaegar to another.

“Why do you frown?” he questioned. “’Tis sudden for you, I understand, but recent events have convinced the King that there can be no more waiting on his part.” Strangely enough, as he tried to console her and explain, Rhaegar seemed put our rather than pleased.

“But there had been no betrothal announcement,” Lyanna pointed out. She supposed they could wed secretly, but such a method would be challenged, the validity of such a marriage would be have doubt cast over, even more so given that words were just words until they were joined by deed.

“The betrothal shall be announced at the tourney. The King also wishes to begin negotiations with the Lord Hand on behalf of Daeron.” That explanation did little to reassure Lyanna. Seven moon’s turns were not quite enough for the change she needed in order to be a proper wife.

“I am not–“ she began but stopped short. Her tongue refused to unknot enough for her to speak the words. “I cannot–“

The gods must have decided to take pity on her, for Rhaegar seemed to know her meaning, or at least understand what it was she could not manage to put into words. “Aye, I know. The King had decided that you should, for the time being, return to the halls of your father after the tourney.”

It could not have worked out better had she planned it. Lyanna took his hand in hers. Ned has wished for her to visit with her family, she would. “How long am I to be gone?” She understood that a wife who was in the impossibility of doing her duty could not be of very much use, but even so, she who had always imagined herself at the point of becoming a woman wedded, was excited at the prospect. And scared in equal measure.

He laughed humourlessly. “A year, two, three. However long it takes until you are ready.” And that needed no further explanations. In a way, she wished for time to speed past her. She wished for all the anxiety to fade away and leave her a new person, a better one perhaps. And yet the thought of such responsibility resting on her shoulders frightened her.

But she had little time to think upon those matters, which in her mind were hazy at best, confusing and quite unsettling. Perhaps she should not have been listening quite so carefully to her Dornish companion. Rhaegar, as if unaware of her turmoil, settled his attention upon another subject altogether.

“What is this I hear from Daeron about a snake,” he spoke, distracting Lyanna from her musing.

“A snake?” she feigned innocence. Daeron should have been silent.

“One should think it quite difficult to forget being bitten by a snake,” came the taut reply.

“Well, of course,” Lyanna attempted to brush the matter aside. “’Twas a small snake, I was told. And it must have been frightened than I.”

“Why did Pycelle not write?” The question nearly knocked Lyanna off her feet with it ferocity. Rhaegar seemed genuinely upset. Though, not enough to be irrational about it. He had, after all, left the matter alone until more urgent problems were solved.

As to the answer, Lyanna could only shrug. “I asked that he not write, given that I was not truly injured and I thought it would not do to cause undue commotion.” Which was a very sound way of thinking as far as she was concerned. It had saved more than one boy from a harsh trashing.

“Lyanna, you cannot keep these things hidden,” Rhaegar sighed.

“Your Grace,” she returned stonily, in quite the most serious voice she could produce, “I am well aware of my own limits. They are, perhaps, more pronounced than those of others, but for all that I will not be coddled or treated with kid gloves.”

“I am not,” he insisted. “Do you not understand, Lyanna? This is not about anyone’s weakness but my own.” But she did not understand. Try as she might, she did not. Lyanna shook her head. “Gods, I am acting foolishly. You will understand when the time is right.”

Quite uncharitably on her part, Lyanna gave a light snort. “If I do not have your trust, then how can I be expected to be of aid to you?”

She realised a few moment later that Rhaegar was kneeling before her. His hands touched her shoulder and he drew her forward. “I do trust you. But you see the world in your own image. To you the good forever prevails.”

“And to you it does not?” she questioned fearfully.

“The best I have is hope.” Her heart squeezed painfully at his words. She could sense there was something just beneath, something that he did not wish to yet share. So Lyanna merely leaned into his embrace, for the moment content with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I thought that since many of you seem to have some questions which are quite frequent, I could do a little Q&A session and post it separately from this fic, therefore if you have any questions you won't have to wait a thousand years for my reply. If any of you is interested, submit the questions in your comment, eventually marking them with an * if there is something else besides it. They can refer to any of my fics, of course.
> 
> Let's see how that goes.
> 
> That said, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Thank you for the kudos and comments. And have a nice day/night. :)


	24. xxiv. Rhaella IV

She could feel him moving behind her, the covering pulling taunt with every shift. Rhaella kept her eyes closed. Aerys did not want her to fuss over him, while her natural instinct begged otherwise, which left her unsure of what to do. Since reclaiming his freedom from his vile captors, her brother had fallen into strange moods. One moment he was joyful, glad to be alive , the next he shuddered in fear, looking at her with wide eyes, as if wondering when she would shed her disguise and strike him.

Easing herself into a position from which she could see him, Rhaella came face to face with Aerys. His eyes burned into her, lips parted slightly as if for speech. His hand was raised, fingers hovering somewhere above the crown of her head. They followed an invisible path down to settle atop her silver tresses and glide down, brushing against her cheek, along her neck and stopping near her collarbone.

Rhaella’s own hand slithered up and caught his gently, bringing it to her lips. She pressed a soft kiss upon his skin, a sign of affection and devotion, a reminder even. She did not dare speak, least she broke whatever calm spell had fallen over them. It was better thus.

He pulled his hand away gently from her grasp and lowered it to curl into the thick wool blankets, tugging them down. Cool night air brushed against her even through her shift. Aerys did not seem to mind it one bit. He threw the covering off at a long last and looked away from her face. She could feel his gaze on her skin, almost tangible. Her shift had predictably ridden up her legs, baring them to Aerys’ eyes.

Indecision played along the taut lines of his body. Rhaella held her breath, her own frame tensing. He hadn’t touched her once since escaping those dungeons. At first she had thought it was mere exhaustion and accepted it as such. Then she reckoned that perhaps he was bothered by his injuries and did not insist. After some time Rhaella became certain that he merely meant to catch up of all affairs of the realm. Yet after all matters had been taken care of, he would still not bed her.

Aerys looked back at her, his gaze pleading. His thin lips drew in a stern line and a high colour brushed against his cheeks. He leaned in until his forehead was touching hers. His breath mingled with hers, warm and slightly moist, the faint scent of wine lingering still. Her husband pressed his lips against hers, somewhat shy for some odd reason. Rhaella welcomed his attention, parting her lips in encouragement. Her arms snaked their way around his neck and she pulled him towards her, limbs coiling about him. One leg wedged its way between hers.

Pinning her down with the weight of his body, Aerys allowed his hands to ream her form. Losing patience with her shift, her gathered a fistful of it and tugged it up, breaking his lips from hers to divest her of the garment.

Rhaella head fell back to the pillow and she gently turned it to one side in invitation. Words would have been superfluous. Aerys kissed the column of her neck, teeth scarping against the thin skin ever now and then. She closed her eyes once again and a soft sound escaped her lips. He did not interrupt his task. Rhaella felt around for his own garment, yet as she began pulling it up and out of the way, her husband gave a los hiss of protest and jumped away from her as if she’d seared him.

With a shake of his head, Aerys drew back to rest his weight on his knees. Rhaella followed him instinctively, her body seeking the warmth and protection of his stronger frame. His features had lost the tinge of desire and were filled with frustration. Not understanding the distress or the sudden change in his demeanour, the Queen gazed at him questioningly.

He opened his mouth to reply but no sound came out. Aerys licked his lips, closed his eyes momentarily, presumably to gather his strength, and caught her by the shoulders, as if to prevent her from leaving. The silence felt heavy between them. She knew not what to do, so she waited, frozen in her place, her face a vision of worry, she imagined.

“I cannot,” he finally managed to get the words out. They grated like a blade against stone, loud in her ears, though he had spoken them quietly. What could the meaning of such words be?

Flushing to the tips of her ears with hurt and disbelief, Rhaella’s shoulders straightened as her pride asserted itself. “You cannot?” The doubt in her voice seemed to act rather like a well placed slap. Aerys shrank back from her, like a kicked hound. Her countenance softened at his reaction. “I am not the girl you wed.” She glanced down at her own changed shape.

“You do not understand,” her brother laughed bitterly. He caressed his hands down her shoulders and arms, placing them around her waist after. “I’ve tried, the Seven know I have. I cannot.”

Refusing such an answer, Rhaella pushed her whole frame into his arms. “Then we shall try again. And again, and again and again,” she spoke in a resolute manner. She could rouse his desire, she knew she could. “You will see, I have no doubt.”

“Were I as sure as you, I would be a happy man,” he lamented. Still, he allowed her to pushed him onto his back and crawl atop of him. She straddled his waits, hands resting atop his chest.

Telling herself that she would not fail, not with so much at stake, Rhaella moved against his slowly, languorously. She leaned in and brushed her lips to his, more teasing than anything else. His hands grabbed at her hips, anchoring, pulling her down. Between kisses, she managed to speak, “I promise you, you shall be happy.” His grip tightened, fingers digging into her skin, pressing her flesh down.

Rhaella pressed her lips against his firmly. She had no more words to give. Instead, she pressed and slid against him, greedy for every moan and groan, not only as a test of herself, but from genuine desire and concern.

***

Lyanna wept softly in her arms, hiding her face away from the world. Rhaella was at wit’s end about what to do. As the tourney drew nearer and nearer, the girl became gloomier and gloomier still. Rhaegar was not much better. And she was so very tired of being everything to everyone. The only happy faces were those of her younger sons.

Aegon crept into the room, followed by Jaehaerys. The two of them gazed at Lyanna longingly. Having heard their approach the girl was wiping her tears away.

“What have we here?” Rhaella asked, suspicious of the smile the two shared. She had learned a very important lesson about her sons when she had returned, and she was still in two minds about what to think of it.

Since finding out about their misadventure involving shakes, bees, two angry Septas and a worried Grand Maester, The Queen had taken it into her head that her three younger sons could be a real danger when they put their mind to it. As such she had scolded them and made sure they showed true remorse for their actions. And they had, at first at last. Then, something changed.

Aerys, unlike her, though then tale amusing and even rewarded the three boys for their deeds. That ensured that their opinion on the matter was much changed. Of course, Pycelle had suffered most in all of it, having been asked a thousand times whether or not he knew who had placed the snake into Lady Lyanna’s bed. The man had denied it. The King did not believe him.

Lyanna insisted that the matter was of no importance. Rhaegar claimed otherwise. But, as one of them had to give way, her son did the right thing and let go of the issue. Rhaella would confess, if asked, that she had distressed by the whole matter. Whatever had happened, Lyanna was determined not to speak to anyone of it, but she had assured them and they had seen for themselves that no injuries had been sustained.

Jaehaerys pouted slightly as if sensing her displeasure. “We brought lemon cakes,” he explained the presence of him and his brother. And indeed they had brought lemon cakes which were promptly divided between them and Lyanna.

“Daeron wanted to know if you were better,” Aegon spoke directly to Lyanna.

“I am much better,” Lyanna assured them. Rhaella nearly smiled. She was not, despite her claim, much better. But she had resigned herself to the situation. The atmosphere had been strained at best since their returns, and Rhaella feared that much of Lyanna’s anxiety had been caused by that.

The king had written to Lord Stark, sharing with him his plans for Lyanna. Lord Stark in turn had replied to the King’s letter, yet did not seem much in favour of Lyanna’s departure for Winterfell. Aerys had made the mistake of allowing both Daeron and Lyanna to remain in his solar for a short time in the presence of said letter. Daeron, knowing how to read, had taken it upon himself to read to Lyanna whatever had been written there, since he had seen Lord Stark’s name signed at the end. Needless to say that resulted in a very despondent Lyanna, a milady annoyed Rhaegar and a regretful Daeron.

It was safe to say that King’s Landing was thrown into chaos, atop of which the preparations for the tourney were added. Nobles and peasants alike had started swarming in, some to fight and some to watch. Among those who had already arrived Rhaella counted Lord Baratheon with his second born, Lord Tully and his two daughters, young Mace Tyrell, his young son Willas and, of course, some Lannister cousins. The only good thing that could possibly come out of it was the fact that Lord Stark had sent his other two sons to King’s Landing too. Soon enough, Lyanna would meet her other siblings as well.

“Will you play with us then?” Jaehaerys asked, hope shining in his eyes.

“Now, now,” Rhaella cut in, “Lady Lyanna and I were in the middle of a conversation.” The two younger children frowned. “After we are done, I shall send her to the gardens. Is that fine?” It was, as far as the two boys were concerned. They scampered out, giggling as they went, appeased by the promise and a gentle smile from Lyanna. “There is no changing the king’s decision,” the Queen continued. “The time shall fly by, I assure you.”

“Would that it were so,” the young girl said. “I fear it shall crawl by. Lord Stark does not desire my presence in Winterfell. If I go, how shall I live there?”

“He would not dare harm you. You shall be Rhaegar’s betrothed by then.” Lyanna’s face still expressed doubt. Rhaella sighed and took the girl’s hands in her own, pressing them gently. “It is necessary that we do this, Lyanna, else I should have liked nothing better than to keep you here with me.”

“But I am to write as soon as I have flowered, am I not? You shan’t leave me there longer than necessary?” Lyanna’s gingers had curled around her hands and held her tightly.

“As soon as the message arrives, we shall send for you.” The promised had the desired effect of calming down the young girl. “It is for you own safety that you must go there, child. Do understand.” These young ones, they would one day drive her insane, Rhaella decided.

Rhaegar did not want Lyanna to go to Winterfell unless Arthur Dayne went with her. Lyanna did not wish to leave for Winterfell on account of her father’s coldness. When Daeron, Aegon and Jaehaerys would finally find out they would possibly make a racket. Viserys would, blissfully, remain unaware of it all.

Besides that, there was the far nearer tourney to concentrate on. Besides announcing the betrothal of Rhaegar and Lyanna, Aerys meant to begin negotiating a match between Daeron and Cersei Lannister. One needn’t have long observed their interactions to know just how her son would react. Rhaella dearly hoped the negotiation fell through, though she hadn’t much hope of that.

“I do think you had best leave for the gardens before they come back in search for you,” Rhaella suggested, noting that Lyanna had begun shifting around uncomfortably. Her sons would probably alert the whole keep that she was missing if she did not make it to the gardens soon anyway. And Rhaella’s heart could not take it.

“Aye, Your Majesty,” Lyanna answered. She made her way to the doors, opening one and slipping outside. Two sets of footsteps could be heard walking down the hall. As for Rhaella, she remain in her chambers, still thinking upon such matters that had the propensity of making her head hurt.

“Gods be good,” she murmured under her breath, rubbing her temple. There were times she did wish her life were easier.

***

Her hand curled around her husband’s as her son rode out once more. Rhaella watched with bated breath as his opponent got closer and closer. She squeezed Aerys’ hand tighter. The King groaned. “Rhaella, there is no danger. Do quit looking so frightened.”

“There is always danger,” she countered, her eyes flashing. She would have wished to say more, but she was distracted.

Ser Barristan was a good rider and none could joust as well as he, it would seem. The two opponents met in a hard clash. Rhaella could already tell who was going to win. Her son had put up a good fight, but Ser Barristan had the advantage. She watched as Rhaegar’s horse rose on two feet and threw his rider off violently.

The Seven, though, were kinder to her than she would have expected, for her son was not on the ground for long. It was with some difficulty that he did so, but Rhaegar climbed back to his feet and took off his helmet. A squire ran to him with a skin of water. Though he had lost, given that the crowd had been much entertained, both victor and adversary were treated to cheers.

For her part, Rhaella was simply glad her son had not suffered any injuries. She smiled down at him when he looked up. And to think that not so long ago he’d been a child, climbing on her lap and demanding stories of her. How fast he had grown and yet how little her maternal instinct had changed towards him. If beasts could let their young ones go as soon as they could be trusted to fend for themselves, human seemed a stinger species, quite unable to ever let go completely.

Such musing, however, were interrupted as Selmy rode towards her and Aerys. He inclined his head towards the King whom he addressed. “Your Majesty, may I present Her Majesty the Queen with this token of my faithfulness?”

Kingsguards, if ever they won tourneys, usually crowned ladies of the royal line for the simple fact that they lovers or wives of their own. It came as little surprise to those gathered that the King would nod his consent. Rhaella stood up from her seat and leaned over the railing, smiling softly when the crown atop her head. The gesture took her many years back when as a girl she had been crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by another knight, a man she had not seen since before the birth of her oldest son.

Aerys touched her elbow gently, causing her to glance his way. He too had stood from his seat and now remained next to her in the cheer of the many who had gathered there.

As the melee was to come next and those who wished to participate had already begun to prepare themselves, Rhaella was only too pleased to see Rhaegar climbing up the stairs. “Well fought,” she said, a kind smile lingering on her lips.

A confused look crossed his face at that. “What mean you, mother? I have lost.” The statement was a neutral one as far as Rhaella could detect.

“I have yet to meet a knight who had not lost at least one joust,” the King cut it. “First you must learn, and only after can you hope to win. Your mother spoke true though, well fought.”

“Your Majesty,” Rhaegar replied. He glanced around as if searching for something. “Where is Lyanna?” he asked.

It occurred to Rhaella that her son had quite forgotten that Lyanna would not be seated with them. The force of habit, she considered, though in her heart she sensed something else. “With her brother one should think,” Rhaella found herself answering. She nodded towards where she caught the image of a the girl and her three siblings.

The oldest of them, Brandon, if memory served, was leaning in towards her, clearly speaking to her. His lips moved and Lyanna’s expression suggested that she was paying him attention, but Rhaella was too far away to make out what was being said.

Eddard Stark was sitting on Lyanna’s other side, a tiny scowl upon his face, which rather reminded Rhaella of her own sons. A mother smile painted her lips, but it was lost mere moments later when Lyanna leaned against this second brother, her forehead thrust against his shoulder.

The youngest of the Stark brothers, whose name Rhaella could not remember for the life of her, jumped up from his own sear, leaning over his sister and blocking the Queen’s view.

Similar worries must have been passing through Rhaegar’s mind, for his form became still and stiff. “What goes on there, for the love of the gods?”

Thankfully, Arthur Dayne arrived at the scene, spoke a few words with Brandon Stark before helping Lyanna to her feet, and then addressed her a question. Lyanna nodded her head and pressed two fingers against one temple, shrugging gently, as if to say she herself was more than a little confused.

But before Rhaella could tell Rhaegar it might not be quite as he imagined it, for Lyanna did not look entirely like she was ill, but rather like distress had seized her, her son was bounding down the stairs. She sighed deeply and turned her gaze upon Aerys. The King was holding back a simply, unperturbed.

“Ought we send someone after him?” she asked, not without a hint of fond exasperation in her voice. These son of hers, and to think she had four more of the same ilk. The gods help them all.

“Nay, let him be,” Aerys suggested. “Let them both learn.” The King was of the opinion that the two should spend as much time together as possible before Lyanna made for Winterfell. He claimed that it would so were the fondest memories made.

Rhaegar had finally reached Lyanna. The girl happily linked her arm with his and all of them conversed upon some matter or another. “I wonder what their reaction shall be when we announce the betrothal,” Rhaella spoke to her husband. “Those brothers of hers, having known her for only a few days, already seem close to her.”

“I am more interested in Tywin’s face,” came the reply.

With a look of annoyance upon her features, Rhaella pushed his hand away from hers. “Why is it that you taunt him? Do you enjoy it so much?”

“Come, Rhaella. You must admit it does the heart good for the eyes to see Tywin Lannister speechless from time to time,” Aerys answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention please, the next chapter will take place after a three years time skip. Don't say I didn't warn you.
> 
> Also, thank you for reading, commenting, liking. :)


	25. xxv. Benjen I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile at Winterfell...

Benjen stared wearily at the despondent creature seated on the steps. He shook his head and murmured a few choice words under his breath, simultaneously cursing the timing of the gods and his sister’s betrothed. Alas, there was no escape, so he climbed down the steps until he reached her and sat down himself.

“This is not King’s Landing, to be seated on steps and not have a care. You might freeze there,” he warned, not without the hint of a jest.

But his twin merely turned to face him with a scowl. “I should like nothing better,” she replied tartly, her fingers picking at lint on her dress. Her anger was understandable and at the same time a complete mystery.

Benjen tried to reconcile her current expression with the face of the girl he had seen three years past. That Lyanna had been joyful, flushed with anticipation and a little tongue-tied. The Lyanna before him fumed silently, a defeated look upon her features. The vision contrasted with the face she had presented to the realm when it was announced that she would wed Rhaegar Targaryen. Benjen remembered that she’d looked triumphant, beaming at anyone who cared to look her way.

That had been three years ago, of course. Since then, though a lively correspondence had been kept between them some issues had given rise to suspicions on the part of his sister. With a small sigh, Benjen wrapped an arm around her. “There now, sister mine. You speak foolishly,” he protested, “what will I do if you find your death here? You would just leave me to the tender mercies of those heathens we call brothers?” He laughed lightly when she groaned. “Tell me, what word from King’s Landing?”

“Merely that I am to wait even longer,” she groused unhappily, a reaction Benjen had become accustomed to over the past few moon turns.

Since becoming a maiden flowered, which had been not long after her celebrated her two-and-tenth nameday, Lyanna had wished for only one thing. For her Prince to come and taken her back to King’s Landing, If he had learned anything about his twin it was that she needed affection and understanding as much as she needed guidance. Winterfell, unfortunately, was not a place where she might find what she needed.

Their father was very much under the influence of some black demon that caused him to anger without reason, to lock himself in his rooms and stay there for days on end. And his tolerance for Lyanna had not improved much since her coming. And his sister felt all these as a rejection, most keenly.

Of course, she had him and Ned and Brandon, but as much as she held them all in affection, she did not feel at home in Winterfell, nor could she ignore Lord Rickard Stark. His absent presence was a blot, a stain on her enjoyment of everything the North had to offer.

And so, it had come as little surprise that she would wish for the easy times she had had within the King’s family. It was understandable that she would pine for those that had taken her in with open arms, protected and loved her. Yet it hurt at the same time.

“Come, Lya, ‘tis not so bad,” he tried cheering her up. She shrugged, making a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat. The delays disheartened her mainly because to her a promise had been made. “Brandon will be happy enough to challenge that Prince of yours to a duel.”

Truth be told, Brandon would happily challenge the whole Kingsguard and the City Watch if he had the chance. Benjen shuddered at the though and he felt Lyanna do the same. She could always be counted on to have an opinion similar to his, to the point where their father’s distaste had become apparent for him too.

“Brandon must be a fool then,” Lyanna offered, still her voice had lightened up somewhat. Counting himself the victor, Benjen plastered a smile upon his face. “We had best protect him,” she sighed a moment after.

“And what better protection is there than your words that all is well.” Brandon was a fool, a gallant one, but nonetheless a man prone to acting without thinking. “And speaking of Brandon, had he not yet returned?”

“Nay,” came the answer. “Benjen, I do wish he would have a care.”

Brandon was on one of his hunting trips, which meant there was a chance he might come home injured. The first time that had happened in the presence of their sister, Lyanna had, perhaps as a result of her dealing with other injured boys, marshalled their oldest brother to Maester Luwin, chiding him all the way.

“Worry not, Maester Luwin will take care of anything,” Benjen promised her.

“Some wounds even the most skilled of maesters cannot heal,” Lyanna contradicted. “You just wait and you shall see that one day they’ll bring him back in a coffin.”

“Aye, but until that day, let us enjoy his presence whenever he allows us to bask in it,” he delivered the speech in his funniest mock-serious voice. He was rewarded with laughter from his twin. “May we rise now or should we wait for the snows to come?”

He helped Lyanna to her feet and together they walked down the rest of the steps, making their way to the godswood. In King’s Landing, Lyanna had been acquainted with the faith of the old gods, but her education had allowed for a better knowledge of the new faith. Yet she had shown herself just as interested in the carved faces as one could have hoped.

The wind pushed against them as if meaning to hold them back, but they persevered and in the end reached their destination. They walked around the lake and near the weirwood three which dominated the grove. There, Lyanna broke away from him and stepped towards the tree. Her small hands touched the carved wood, fingers sliding against the protruding portions.

“Still fascinated?” he asked.

  
“How could I not be?” his twin laughed. “I cannot understand why you do not feel it, but I swear there is something about this tree.”

“Certainly, there is. It had become a subject of your imagination. ‘Tis dangerous that,” he could not help but warn her.

“Oh, do stop.” She whirled around, though not exactly in his direction. “You and your warnings.”

***

Ned clapped a hand on his shoulder and threw him a challenging look. Benjen snorted and picked up one of the blunted swords. You shan’t win this time,” he warned, testing the weight of his weapon. He cut through air a few times, trying to get used to it.

“Good grip,” his brother commented, picking up a sword of his own. He followed the same pattern in preparing for their spar.

Had Brandon been present he would have undoubtedly egged them on, only too happy to seen them struggle against one another. Their oldest brother was by far the most warrior-like of them and his behaviour was proof of the need for constant competition.

Benjen charged at Ned with a straightforward attack which his brother deflected easily. He followed it with a side slash, landing a hit on Benjen’s leg. With a hiss of pain the youngest Stark brother retreated a few steps back.

Sure of his advantage Ned pressed onward, advancing towards his foe. Benjen continued to walk backwards, waiting for his brother’s guard to drop, at least a little. Thankfully, he did not have to wait very long. Ned raised his hand in preparation for a high blow. Seeing his opportunity, Benjen dove in, slamming his shoulder into Ned’s chest, knocking his brother to the ground.

Raising the sword above his head, Benjen brought it down for what was to be the fatal blow. Ned rolled out of the way. Steel met earth, sinking with ease into the niche it had cut. Benjen pulled the weapon out with a grunt. By the time he’d released his sword, Ned had climbed to his feet and was in the process of delivering a strike to his midsection, but Benjen managed to use the edge of his sword to block it. Steel met steel as the blades scarped against one another, screeching their song of battle.

Manoeuvring his sword until it stood under Ned’s, Benjen swiftly tugged it upwards. The suddenness of the move put a train on Ned’s balance and the older brother found himself leaning precariously to one side, the weight of the weapon contributing to the slow recovery. Benjen, ever willing to aid in anyway he could, gave him a sharp smile.

Ned shook his heads and, as if the gods themselves guided his arm, he brought the sword up with one hand and urged it to drop upon his brother. Slightly unprepared, Benjen suffered a blow to the arm. The blunted steel did not cut, but pain abounded even so. “You should never celebrate victory until your opponent actually lies dead at your feet,” he advised, not without a hint of amusement.

“Ha! And you say Brandon is a bad influence, my brother, when you speak for kinslaying as one does of archery practice. But if you will it, so be it, I shall knock you to the ground,” Benjen laughed, launching into another series of attacks. They had passed the moments of mere testing, the mockery went out of them. Each brother desired to be the victor.

Yet, as in all things, true victory could crown only one of them. And it fell to the Fates and their own skills to decide who should receive the crown and who the dust.

Once more steel came down upon steel as they tried to outwit one another with meticulously crafted blows or plain frustrated strikes. If ever there was a soul that claimed the work of the warrior was an easy one, Benjen decided there and then that he should put a sword into the poor creature’s hand and proceed to dismantle the foolish belief. Those who knew not spoke the loudest.

By some ill-luck that had been thrown his way, the youngest Stark brother missed his target once more and struck the ground, only the second time around the force behind hi thrust sent him too running into the soil. Ned did not wait again for him to retrieve his sword and pluck it in his hand, but brought the tip of his blade to the younger one’s neck.

“If this were a battlefield, you’d be dead,” he said, though his voice held very little harshness. “Has Brandon not taught you that you shouldn’t throw your whole weight behind an attack you are not sure will actually fell your enemy?”

Standing up with a displeased grunt, Benjen kicked the dirt with his foot, before brushing off dust from his front. “I was certain I would strike you,” he protested. Yet he knew Ned had won fairly. Thinking back, he might have known he would not catch his brother so easily. “No matter, I think we should cross swords again soon. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Good for you,” his brother shrugged. “’Tis the only way you can learn. Now let us be off, before Nan sends out the whole keep in search for us.”

Poor Nan, Benjen thought. The old woman had taken care of his since he’d been born, but lately her senses had started failing her. It had seemed amusing to him at first, yet the more he thought upon it, the worse and worse the situation presented itself in his mind. Thankfully, since Lyanna had arrived at Winterfell, Nan had been quite content to accompany her and serve her as faithfully as any companion ever could. Lyanna too had taken quite a shine to the old woman. She had been particularly impressed by the stories which Nan told in front of a good, roaring fire. Snarks and grumkins had always been very interesting creatures, of course.

“Do you think father will have managed to make any progress in his latest attempts to foist Brandon on some unsuspecting maiden?” Benjenn found himself asking as they made their way to the Keep.

Their father, may the gods keep him, had taken it into his head that only the daughter of a great house would do for his eldest child. That had prompted him to search for the perfect bride among Lannisters, Tullys and Tyrells. He had been quite distraught when Tywin Lannister had refused out of hand the proposition. The Tyrells had not yet answered, nor the Tullys.

“I think he ought help Lyanna and offer Brandon to that Dornish Princess our sister remembers so fondly,” Ned offered.

Benjen nearly choked as laugher sprang from deep inside of him. “I can just imagine the Dornish coming here. We’ll make icicles of them all yet and help Lyanna. What are brothers for, after all, if not this?”

“You speak true,” came the answer, “but I fear we might not have father’s supporting this. Or Brandon’s.”

Ned could be right. Brandon did, for some reason, seem to shy away from talk of weddings. Which would have been perfectly understandable, had he not promised at least a score of women that he’d wed them.

***

The smell inside the room was no less than repulsive. Benjen brought a hand over his mouth and nose, hoping to block the foul stench. It did not help much, truth be told, but he had no other recourse. Maester Luwin urged him in, to which urge he replied with a sharp nod. Gathering all his endurance to use it as a shield, he stepped over the threshold mutely.

“What has happened?” he questioned, staring with curiosity to the wound that the maester was sewing carefully. His father, looking more dead than alive, made an inarticulate sound in the back of his throat that could have meant a thousand things or nothing at all.

“The lord cut himself on his sharpened sword,” replied the learned man. “I am nearly done, young Benjen. ‘Tis not your father that is the reason for which I wished to see you.” Yet nothing more would be said until his work was done. Benjen walked near one of the windows and sat down on a stool, gazing at the outside world with a thoughtless expression.

Many thoughts could have occurred to him in the time that passed which might have been of help, yet, as he paid little mind to the fragments which filled his head, half-whispered things, Benjen gained nothing by them. Instead he reached a state in which sleep seemed to him the best ally he could hope for. Closing his eyes and placing his head on one arm, he was just about to succumb to the sweet temptation when the good maester shook him by the shoulder.

“Benjen, it is not yet time to sleep. Awake, child,” the man instructed with a strong, commanding voice.

“I can truly say I do not appreciate this,” Benjen muttered. Yet he was also quite curious to find out what the maester had called him for. Still, if the news could be had in a more palatable place, he would be very pleased indeed. “May we at least move from this chamber?”

“Certainly,” Luwin replied. He walked towards Lord Stark and made him drink a strange looking liquid. “It shall help with the pain,” he promised.

His father, apparently trusting the man not to bring him harm, took the draught to the very last drop. Turning towards the son, the scholar placed the wooden cup on an unoccupied stool. “It is a concoction of mine. It shall ensure that he has an easy sleep for a few hours at least.”

“A rather long time,” Benjen could not help but observe.

“But enough so we may do what is required of us,” the wise one offered by way of explanation. “A raven has arrived from King’s Landing. The presence of your sister is required at court.”

Utterly befuddled, Benjen scrunched his face in consternation. “What do you mean, maester?”

Maester Luwin sighed. “My lord has been struck by one of his moods once more and refused to allow Lady Lyanna to see the true message. Instead, I read to her one of the older letters, hoping to buy some time so arrangements could be made.”

“Of course.” Benjen did not know if he ought to be surprised at all. He had heard it said that their father claimed he would rather strangle his daughter with his own hands than allow her greatness when having imbibed. Given, however, that too much drink usually left him too sick to move, not much credence had been given to such claims. Besides which, Benjen would have though their father could not wait for Lyanna to leave. “Mean you that he truly wished to impede her departure?”

“Aye, ‘twas his goal, I should think,” the maester admitted. “But his mind had been darkened by spirits and he knows not what he is going.”

“How exactly are we to solve this issue?” Benjen asked.

Given that Brandon was more absent than present and that Ned’s sole mission seemed to be guarding their sister, Benjen had often been the one to whom the maester spoke of his schemes of bettering Winterfell. Even before all his siblings had gathered within the home of House Stark. For the most part they were brilliant plans and merited attention. Which Benjen did give to them, and from time to time even Lyanna had been known to comment upon them when Benjen shared with her such information.

“We must make sure that Lady Lyanna had safely started her journey and we had best be swift about it. She must be gone before the lord wakes. After that we shall see about convincing the man that he himself ordered that she be seen off.” It made sense. When in his good mind, Lord Stark was very much eager to have Lyanna away from Winterfell.

If anyone had waited for her to flower with more pathos than Lyanna, then that person had been Rickard Stark. He claimed she looked too much like her mother, she wounded his heart with her very presence.

Unsurprisingly enough, Lyanna was already in the courtyard, holding Nan’s hand in hers. The old woman was crying and his sister spoke to her words of comfort. “I am so very grateful for the kindness you have shown me. I shan’t forget you, Nan, I swear.”

Tearful farewells being the province of women, Benjen kept away until his sister had dried her eyes and was in possession of all her wits before approaching her. “Lyanna, sneaking away like a thief in the night, I see,” he jested, wrapping his arms around her.

“Is it night?” she questioned, her tone light. Her own arms held onto him. “I wish you would come with me, brother.”

“I confess I would enjoy that too, yet if I leave the walls of Winterfell will fall to the ground in a heap of useless blocks of stone.” There was an old saying that a Stark must always remain within the walls of the keep. And sine their father had proved rather useless in running everything and Brandon was out carousing and Ned was, of course, joining Lyanna, Benjen had to stay behind.

There would come a day when he would see her again, of course. He helped her onto a horse and addressed Ned, “Take care of her, else I’ll let Brandon know it was you who stole away all the lemon cakes that one time.”

“It was Lyanna,” Ned snorted.

“I didn’t,” their sister disagreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I will probably update again soon, but I don't, it's probably because I'm disappointed with again. If that does happen, you'll just have to wait it out.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter.:)


	26. xxvi. Ned IV

The clear water of the small river flowed past them without much hurry. The wind blew, though not too harshly, as if mindful of present company and the fact that care was needed. Ned smiled at the thought and looked back towards Lyanna who had fallen into pace with Lady Nora Cerwyn. The daughter of Lord Dorren Cerwyn had begun the journey along the Kingsroad just a bit before them and since meeting they had come to the understanding that it would be best to keep close together, as larger parties were less exposed to danger of raiders.

Slowing the pace of his steed, Ned waited for both ladies to reach him. Lady Nora, taking notice of his behaviour flashed him a smile, her upper lip pulling back to reveal white teeth. “Ever the careful brother, are you not?” she asked him in jest, her light blue eyes shining with a playful light.

“I should think so, my lady,” he answered. Ned could safely say that he liked Nora Cerwyn, she also seemed to have made fast friends with Lyanna. “It is going to be nightfall soon and we shall be making camp in not much longer. I thought to let you know.”

“That is just as well,” Lyanna laughed, “for I fear I may have frozen and become stuck to the saddle.”

“It is nippy,” Nora agreed. “And it looks like it might snow,” she then commented upon looking at the sky.

Knowing his sister in good hands for the time being, Ned spurred his horse on and rode forward until he reached Ser Jonnel Frost, a man not quite young, but skilled with a sword and the keeper of Lady Nora until they reached Nightsong, where Lady Nora was to wed a member of House Caron. All that information had been relied to Ned by the lady herself in the presence of his sister. It seemed that all the young ladies of Westeros were on a journey to be wedded.

“Tired, are they?” Jonnel questioned, referring to the women.

“So it would seem.” The reply produced a snort from the man. Ned gave him a questioning look.

“Women are like that,” the other chuckled. “But you just wait until we place them in front of a fire. They’ll not be tired then.”

It seemed a cruel jest of fate that those words should prove to be prophetic, but they did. For as soon as they’d stopped and camp had been made, the men had kindling fires and all gathered round them. Ned, expecting to see the two ladies tired and perhaps even a bit sleepy, was surprised to find happy as larks, in a heated discussion about the merits and disadvantages of being the only female members of their family. It turned out that Lady Nora too had only brothers in her father’s home.

Food and drink was taken out. Bread and salted meat was passed from hand to hand, each person ripping chinks and bits, some cutting with knives, other simply pulling until it came apart. Ned sat down next to Lyanna proceeding to be a shield to her against anything that might have suggested danger.

Once nourishment had been taken, it came the time to lie down in rest.

“The safest option seemed to have Lady Nora and his sister slumbering together and their tent guarded. It was happily agreed upon and no sooner that the moon shone bright in the sky that the two women hid away from the sight of all, presumably to find rest and not be disturbed by the cruder habits that men displayed when not in the company of women.

Much of the night passed uneventfully, though Ned could not seem to find sleep, no matter how he tossed and turned. It was the damndest of things. In the end he was obliged to give up and leave the comfort of his makeshift bed to go nearer to one of the fires and huddle with the rest of the men. He threw a look at Lady Nora’s tent. How enviable that women were always provided protection.

He was handed a flask of ale by one of the soldiers. “You look as if you’d been staring death in face. Take heart. Drink of this.”

Seeing no recourse but to accept, he took a long gulp of the liquid and thanked the gods after that he hadn’t choked on it. The gods were good, at least of that particular occasion. He was filled by a pleasant sort of warmth and not even the aftertaste of ale on his tongue bother him that much in the end. Ned supposed it was the severe cold that affected him so. He placed his hands closer to the fire, rubbing them together from time to time to keep the blood flowing.

He began considering how long the journey would take if they travelled even after night had fallen. But the road was already dangerous enough without having to face beasts, fiends and robbers in the dead of the nigh when men were tired, more asleep than awake and as likely to stab each other as they were to fell the enemy. That taken into consideration, it was mayhap possible to drive their horses at a speedier pace, yet it was possible that Lyanna would have problems with keeping such a pace.

All things considered, it was best to proceed as they were. They had adequate numbers, enough food and drink and enough time also. If all went well, Arthur Dayne should meet them on the Kingsroad once they neared King’s Landing. They only needed to get there first.

If he fell asleep even a bit before the morning came, Ned would never know, for it seemed to him as if the whole night thereafter had passed much like a dream. Before she knew it, it was time to break camp and being travelling once again.

Lyanna smiled at him cheerfully. It was clear that at least she had had a good night’s rest. But, as if sensing his weariness, his sister touched his shoulder gently. “Brother, are you fine?”

“Aye,” he answered hastily. Helping her on her horse, he checked that the saddle was secure. Once assured that no ill could befell her, he mounted his own steed.

Jonnel made sure that all else was as it should be and the travel companions were on their way before long.

***

“We cannot stay much longer,” he spoke softly in her ear, hand touching her shoulder. “I know you do not wish to leave Lady Nora here on her own, but we do have to move on. Come, Lyanna. You know I am right,” Ned coaxed.

His sister sighed deeply. “I know your meaning.”

“You might fall ill as well if we do not depart.” He was truly regretful that the circumstances were such, yet Ned knew that it was best they left. “Soon enough we shall be entering the kingswood and from there on, King’s Landing is a stone’s throw away. We are so very close.”

“You speak true,” she agreed. For all the mercy in her heart, Lyanna had never truly been driven by pity. Ned had needed some time to understand, but once he’d figured out that detail, it became much easier to understand his dear sister.

Lyanna was a strange creature, she truly was. For someone who seemed soft and kind there was beneath that first layer of benevolence a coat of steel, rather reminiscent of Brandon’s obstinacy. Ned had heard that very hastiness called the wolf’s blood more than once, thought what that had to do with wolves, he would never know. From his observation the wolves were careful beasts, almost wise in their own way.

But as he had observed before, Lyanna youth made her prone towards rather reckless behaviour from time to tome. The consequences were made more frightening by the fact that she was truly important in the fate of the world, if the gods were to be believed.

”Sister, the gods may offer only so much protection. If you shan’t care for yourself, do not expect others to.” The warning had her standing to her feet, mouth twisting in displeasure. “A maester has already been engaged for Lady Nora. There is no more that you can do for her.”

To be entirely fair, Lyanna had thought that the strange illness may be driven away by a touch of hers. Of course, she had been much disappointed when it was not so. The maester they had found in the house of a nearby lord had agreed to aid the young lady in exchange for some coin, which Lyanna had insisted that she should pay for some reason. Ned had allowed it only because he knew how obstinate his sister could be when it served her purpose.

”Do you truly think this situation pleases me?” she demanded, fury colouring her words. Tired and worried, Lyanna was not the best of companions. “I wish but for this to be over as soon as possible, but I cannot leave until I am assured that Lady Nora’s health shall be restored.”

“Will nothing induce you to change your mind?” At the shake of her head, Ned could not help but slap his hand against the wooden table she occupied. “You will end up driving me insane.”

“I did not demand your presence,” she reminded him, crossing her arms over her chest.

The illness had struck out of nowhere, falling upon their group as they rested at an inn. No one could find any explanation for it, as they had eaten the same meals and travelled the same roads, yet some of them had succumbed to it and others carried on without trouble. It had started with mild discomfort and then a fever followed. Lady Nora could not even leave her bed.

It was a strange thing by all accounts. But as much as Ned wished to stray and find out the cause behind it, they had delayed leaving quite enough.

”Very well. I shall prove to you that you needn’t fear for her.” His words prompted a smile from his sister. “Now where is that maester?”

He walked away in search of the man, hoping that hearing from his own lips the state Lady Nora found herself in, his sister would agree that it was time to leave.

The young maester proved himself quite an intelligent man. Ned did not even have to explain to him the reason for which he was sought out. He came down from Lady Nora’s bedchamber and walked towards Lyanna with an easy step and an air of confidence that Ned almost envied. There was a certain charm about him, but one that he had not until that point dared utilise against Lyanna.

“Lady Stark, you wished to speak to me?” he asked, accepting Lyanna’s silent invitation that he should sit down next to her.

“Indeed, I should like to know how Lady Cerwyn fares. She was my travel companion from very early into this journey and I should feel rather put out to have left her without knowing her state.” For good measure, his sister added a smile at the end of her statement. Ned quite understood the game she played.

Lyanna had been told in no uncertain terms by good old Nan that she should make good use of the gifts the gods had given her. What Nan had been speaking of, without trying to hide from him, Brandon and Benjen, was that Lyanna possessed a very charming smile that could sway more than a few wits. And of course his sister gaining the knowledge, surprised and more than a little intrigued, used her weapon from time to time, more to test it than with any other intention.

Amused, Ned leaned against the wall and listened to the explanation offered by the maester. It seemed that there was a very good change that all Lady Nora needed was a few weeks of rest and plenty of food for her recovery. But she could not be moved for some time and it would be best if she went on with the journey, else she wished to wait more.

“I thank you,” Lyanna ended the interview with a wave of her hand. “I now see there is nothing more I can do.”

Ned felt the words were more for him than for the maester, but he led he man away, allowing Lyanna whatever time she thought necessary to gather her trunks and speak whatever farewells she thought necessary to be spoken at the bed of the suffering Lady Cerwyn. For his part, he had to check upon the men and see how many of them could travel. The others, Ned decided, would be left at the inn and after their recovery they could go wherever they thought best.

When there was nothing more to be done, he returned inside the inn and walked up the stairs to the upper level. Lyanna was just then coming out of her bedchamber, one of the men walking behind her, carrying a trunk in his arms.

“This is the last of them, I reckon,” she was saying.

“Aye, m’lady,” was the reply she received.

Ned took her by the arm gently. “All is ready.”

***

As had been promised in the message that came from the crown, Arthur Dayne was waiting for them just before the entrance of the kingswood, but to Ned’s utter surprise, not one, nor two, but three Kingsguards had been brought along. But before he could pose any questions at the sound of Arthur’s voice, his sister abruptly stopped her horse, deeming it quite natural to stop in the middle of the road and demand to be helped down, which wish was fulfilled.

When she had first arrived in Winterfell, Arthur Dayne had been with her, on the word of the King, to act as guardian to her. Their father had protested his presence, taking it as an affront. Lyanna had attempted to intervene in the ensuing dispute, but once she became convinced it would do no good to further tolerate the frustration, least they break into something monstrous, wrote to the King that as she was well cared for in the home of her father, she wished Arthur released from the duty assigned to him. Aerys had seemed to understand all too well her meaning and for some reason relented to her plea.

It was likely that her move had saved not only the life of Arthur Dayne but also the dignity of House Stark. Arthur had returned to King’s Landing, though he’d not been too pleased when the order had come. Still, that had been the best possible outcome.

That aside it seemed that distance and time had not lessened the friendship that had been very much apparent to Ned when his sister yet lived in King’s Landing. Released from the saddle, Lyanna smoothed over the creases of her dress and stepped forward, holding one hand out in a friendly gesture.

Arthur bowed over it and took the opportunity to reintroduce the present Kingsguards to her. Ser Harlan Grandison had aged some, in a very striking manner since last Ned had seen him, but he’d kept the same face about him, which was recognisable even with the added wrinkles. Jonothor Darry was busy yawning for which his esteem brother, Barristan Selmy gave him a more or less frightening glare. Ned watched the three for some time as they greeted Lyanna.

“They shall make sure that you will be safely led into King’s Landing,” Arthur was saying. That caught Ned’s attention.

“What mean you?” he could not help masking his unease. “Why should the portion of the road be less safe through the Kingswood?”

“Recently we have had some trouble with a group of rouges,” Arthur answered. “The King has dispatched men to find then and end their reign of terror, however, we thought it best to be safe.”

Nodding his head, Ned finally had all the information he needed to piece together the pieces in his head. The King had not called Lyanna to King’s Landing at an earlier time because the danger had likely been to great for her to travel from Winterfell along the route.

Lyanna too had paid attention to that explanation and likely she’d reached a similar conclusion for her face adopted a thoughtful cast. “And have these men yet been apprehended or is the hunt still on?”

“The King has declared the outlaws, my lady,” Ser Darry replied, “and bounties have been set upon their heads, but they are yet free.”

“Fear not, Lady Stark,” Ser Grandison cut in. “These foul men will not dare cast greedy eyes upon our party.”

Hoping that the man would not be proven wrong, Ned waited for Arthur to restore Lyanna to her proper place atop her steed.

They entered the Kingswood as a merry company, quiet conversation breaking out among them. Ned kept close to Lyanna, unwilling to let her out of his sight knowing what he knew about these roads. He wished the King had seen fit to give a clearer warning. He would have taken more men had he known. Yet it was futile to think upon that.

After travelling for some time without even a hint of danger along the way, Ned finally relaxed, his attention shifting to the conversation Lyanna was having with Arthur.

“I tell you, Arthur, had you remained in Winterfell, that Dornish blood of yours would have frozen in your veins,” his sister laughed, though not cruelly. Lyanna had been known to jest every now and again if her mood was a bright one.

“You say that as if it were an insult and not a normal state all but you Northernmen find yourselves in,” the young man quipped without much restraint. But he too sported a look of amusement upon his face.

“Very well then,” Lyanna allowed that he might be right with accustomed grace. Ned rather thought all those arguments she’d had with him and Benjen might have taught her something of true patience in the end.

Whatever else she might have wished to say was interrupted by a sudden cry coming from behind them. Ned’s head whipped around, eyes searching for the disturbance. To his utter horror one of his father’s men had been struck down from his horse, an arrow sticking out of his chest.

“Halt!” a voice yelled out from ahead.

They had been caught in a trap. Ned cursed harshly and unsheathed his sword. Arthur did the same. But it was much too late. Arrows flew all around them. One of them struck Lyanna’s horse, narrowly missing the rider. Ned jumped from his horse and pulled Lyanna down with him, trapping her body to the ground with his.

“Ned, what is happening?” his sister cried out, no doubt frightened.

“We are under attack,” he replied softly. “Keep still and let us protect you.” Pulling away from her, Ned stood up and charged into attack against one of the assailants.

In the confusion, however, one of the outlaws managed to grab Lyanna. Her loud yell alerted him, but there was nothing to be done. The man that held her put a sharp blade to her neck and though she tried to fight his hold off that only earned her a brutal shake from her captor.

“Good sers and kind lady, be not alarmed,” the leader spoke, “we only seek a donation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm willing to bet you didn't see that one coming...
> 
> Hope you liked it.


	27. xxvii. Rhaegar VI

Varys rubbed his hands together, that unctuous smile on his face not disappearing as he kept delivering news to the King. “And so, Your Majesty, the work is nearly finished. Come the next year, Summerhall shall be habitable once more.” And with that he finally finished his considerably long report.

Rhaegar looked at his father, trying to gauge his reaction. There were times when one could not quite know what he was thinking. After his brush with death three years past, the King seemed to find it considerably difficult to communicate with those around him. There were times when he could be silent for hours on end. The Queen, Rhaegar knew, had been worried at first, but after some time filling the silence felt natural to her. And, of course, Daeron was always willing to help.

But back to the matter at hand, Rhaegar considered the eunuch. Summerhall had burned down on the night that he was born. It had been a tragedy, lives lost, treasures gone; and all for nothing. Nothing had been achieved of what had been desired. The King had ordered that work begin on its resurrection years ago, even before Rhaegar had left for Dorne.

“That is good,” Aerys replied at a long last. “Is there any matter which we have not yet touched upon?”

There was some uncomfortable shifting from the lords of the realm. Symond Staunton coughed as if to clear his throat. “Your Majesty, there is but one issue left to discuss.”

“Proceed,” the King told him.

“The matter of that brotherhood of outlaws that hides away in the Kingswood and terrorises high lords and peasants alike has not yet been solved satisfactorily.” A murmur of approval came from the Master of Coin at Symond’s words.

“’Tis true, Your Majesty. They have somehow gained the trust of some foolish peasants who aid them by keeping the secret of their location,” Qarlton Chelsted, Master of Coin, added to what the Master of Laws had revealed.

His father stood up from the seat at the head of the table swiftly, startling old Pycelle. Rhaegar would have laughed had the situation not been quite so dire. “What is the meaning of this, my lord?” the King spoke loudly. “You claimed not two moon turns past that those scum had been apprehended and were on their way to the gallows.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty. We have captured some men affiliated with the brotherhood, but only too late did we learn they were members just added to those foul ranks,” Symond replied.

The following words of his father nearly stopped the heart in his chest. “You incompetent, complete and utter fools! You claimed the roads were safe again. Else I would not have sent for Lady Stark.”

His hand instinctively grabbed at the edge of the table. Father had sent for Lyanna? They had spoken of her returning. Mother had even insisted that it be soon. Of course, it had been agreed that she would only be called back after the matter of the Kingswood brotherhood was taken care of.

“Your Majesty could perhaps halt her progress,” Pycelle offered, “by sending out a raven.” His gnarled fingers came to emphasise the point with a small discrete gesture.

“That will not do,” his father disagreed. “By now she must have travelled more than half the distance. And even if I were to send a raven, who knows in what hands it would fall. Nay, the ill has been done.”

Rhaegar felt strangely lightheaded. It was as if all was a dream, a night terror ready to fade away at any moment. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest and words refused to leave his mouth, though they’d crowded upon his tongue. He wanted nothing more than to spring from his seat, mount a steed and meet her upon the Kingsroad. But splendid as the idea sounded in his mind, Rhaegar knew better than to voice it.

“Your Majesty, if I might speak,” Ser Gerold Hightower cut in. The White Bull, a massive man, though somewhat past the prime of his age, cut an imposing figure as he stood there, twice the size of most men, his armour gleaming in the light of the sun.

“Speak,” the King allowed after a moment of silence.

“Lady Stark undoubtedly would have left with guards given by her father. The road becomes dangerous only through the Kingswood. Therefore, allow three of my brothers to wait for the lady at the entrance of the Kingswood. So heavily guarded a person would force anyone to think twice before attacking,” the White Bull drew the conclusion.

He might or he might not be right. Rhaegar had heard of the brotherhood that they were a daring lot. He wondered if the presence of the Kingsguards would indeed stop them. It was a gamble, of course, but what other choice was there?

“Very well, we shall do as the Commander says,” the King decided after considering the proposition. “But know this, my lords, I hold you responsible for gross incompetence should any ill befall Lady Lyanna in the Kingswood. You had only to remove the threat and even such simple a task proved too much for you.” His lips curled in disgust. “Leave my sight, all of you!”

The lord wasted no time in following the order and emptying the room. Alone with his father, Rhaegar stood up as well. “Father, allow me to go with the Kingsguards,” he asked, though he knew the change of acceptance were slim.

Light lilac eyes turned on his, flashing dangerously. “You had best watch that mouth before it lands you in trouble,” the King warned. “Do not ask for impossible things.”

“Aye, Your Majesty, I understand,” Rhaegar answered. It had not been unexpected, after all, and he was bound to obey.

“You may, if you wish, send Dayne, should that ease your conscience in any way.” The small allowance received a nod from Rhaegar. “These fools, they will drive me to an early grave,” the King muttered, sitting back down in his chair. “And to think I have trusted the running of my realm to them in the past.”

His head was pounding, Rhaegar realised as he too sat down. He could not decide if he should leave the room as well or sit for some time yet with his father. But most of all, he feared that if he stated walking he would keep going on and not stop at all.

***

The usual beauty of the gardens failed to soothe him. Rhaegar looked at a bush of blooming flowers, but what his eyes saw his mind barely even processed. His thoughts kept running back to Lyanna and no matter what he did, fear crept upon him. If only there was some way of knowing her well.

A sudden movement caught in his peripheral vision alerted Rhaegar that his solitude had been invaded. His face moved instinctively towards the approaching figure. His younger brothers, Daeron and Aegon, were inching towards him. Jaehaerys was strangely absent from their group.

“What is this?” he asked, beckoning them forward when they suddenly stopped.

Daeron looked at Aegon, and Aegon shrugged back slowly. They both stared at his after. “We thought you might want to come to the library with us,” Daeron offer somewhat shyly. Aegon nodded along. “Jaehaerys found this poem and he cannot understand what it is about. We thought you’d know.”

He gazed at them uncomprehendingly for a few long moments. Poems were the last thing on his mind. But he understood quickly enough the realm aim and he could not help but be touched by the gesture. Standing to his feet, Rhaegar nodded slowly. “Shall we see then?”

The three of the walked inside and then up the stairs that led to the upper levels where the library could be found. The stone steps created a winding path that Aegon felt the need to follow in a run. Daeron, exercising a better control, was content to walk beside Rhaegar. The past few years had sobered his brother much to the surprise of the rest of the family. It was not that he’d lost his childlike joy, for he could at times seem like a boy younger than he truly was, but those episodes were more carefully crafted and less spontaneous as he got older.

“It’s here,” Aegon declared, calling at them from his place before the door, where he waited impatiently for his older brothers to arrive.

“My gratitude,” Daeron replied, his voice holding a certain cutting edge. “I don’t know what we would have done without you, Aegon. I daresay they would have found our bones at a careful search.”

Aegon’s face fell and he glared at Daeron with something that suggested enmity. When he looked about ready to attack, Rhaegar caught the boy in his arms. “No more of that,” he warned when Aegon’s heel came crashing down into his knee. He put the boy down and looked at the other brother. “Daeron, you should apologise.”

“That is not fair,” Daeron complained as a triumphant look bloomed on Aegon’s face.

“Aye, it is fair,” Aegon goaded. “Come, you should apologise.”

“Don’t taunt your brother,” Rhaegar cut in.

Playing referee in the spats between his brothers was as amusing as it had always been, yet when Rhaegar stopped to think about it and considered that one day he would have to play the same role for children of his own, Rhaegar wondered if he would ever have a moment’s peace.

“He started it,” Aegon answered to his demand.

“That is not true,” Daeron disagreed loudly, “you started it.”

“It doesn’t matter who started it,” he tried to contain his annoyance. “But both of you will end this right now. Have I made myself understood?”

“Aye,” they replied in unison.

That done, Rhaegar put his hand on the handle and pushed the door open, entering, expecting that Daeron and Aegon would follow, which they did. The library was quite spacious, with a fire burning in the hearth and a large wooden table near it, with a few chairs around it.

In one of these chairs sat a bored Jaehaerys, leafing through a book. Next to him, little Viserys had somehow managed to put his hands on a large volume, which instead of reading, he was testing the covering of, by biting into the leather that bound it.

“Viserys,” Rhaegar called to his youngest brother, “what are you doing?” The boy looked up from his task with wide innocent eyes and a smiling face, clearly delighted at the presence of his other brothers.

“I am searching for almonds,” came the reply to Rhaegar’s question. At those words, Jaehaerys looked up from his book and shook his head at Viserys, trying to quieten the boy.

“Jaehaerys, what did you tell him?” Rhaegar questioned, approaching the table at a slower pace than Daeron and Aegon who each had climbed into their seats, twin smiles upon their faces, as if it was all a jest.

“I may have said something about almonds hiding in books.” The admission prompted his older brothers to burst into laughter. Jaehaerys threw them a hard stare. “I just wanted to stop him from eating the paper. He though it was made of sweet powder.” Even more laughter followed that statement.

“Sweet powder?” Rhaegar wondered out loud. “And who told him that paper was made of sweet powder?”

“This once it was not us,” Aegon jumped in to defend his younger brother. “I swear, ‘twas not. Princess Elia was the one who told him that.”

That had been unexpected. Rhaegar sighed deeply. He could not bring himself to ask why Elia Martell would tell something like that to the child, but Daeron was perfectly willing to disclose to him that too. “He found a book of hers on the table and for some reason threw it to the ground at which point the Princess picked it up and told him the book was fragile because it was made of sweet powder.”

“Like figurines,” Viserys nodded his head empathically.

“I see.” Rhaegar had the nearly overwhelming urge to hide his face in his hands. Had he ever been so gullible as a child? “That book that you are holding is, unfortunately, not made of sweet powder, not does it have any almonds.”

Viserys pouted. “It doesn’t.”

“Indeed, it doesn’t,” came the decidedly resolute response. “Now if we could see about Jaehaerys’ poem.”

“What poem?” Jaehaerys questioned, which earned him a shove from Daeron who was sitting closest to him and a groan from Aegon.

“It was a ruse, wasn’t it?” the oldest Prince demanded to know. The answer was in the affirmative. “How very sly of you.”

Daeron was the first to understand that he hadn’t been much offended. He looked up at him. “You have been so very sad,” he murmured.

Signing, Rhaegar sat down at the table and saved the tome Viserys had been gnawing on from further destruction. “I have been rather preoccupied.”

“You haven’t even played your harp,” Aegon offered.

“I haven’t,” came his agreement. “And I have also neglected you four, I fear.” So caught up had he been in the issue of those vermin that plagued the realm that he’d forgotten his other duties. His worrying would not bring Lyanna any faster to King’s landing. He might as well see to his brothers.

“Symeon Star-Eyes was lost in the woods last we heard of him,” Jaehaerys prompted.

“And he was surrounded by wild beasts,” Viserys added.

Aegon leaned forward and Daeron leaned back in his chair.

It was time to continue the story, Rhaegar realised.

***

Enough time had passed for the worries to grow once again in his soul. Rhaegar had been keeping count of the days that had passed, accounting for all delays, and for all that, unless all horses had thrown their shoes, it would still not have caused such a setback. It had been too long, much too long.

The nobles whispered among themselves upon subjects Rhaegar held little interest in. He eyed them lazily, in a deliberate bid for as little attention as possible. Lord Lannister was discussing something with the Master of Coin. At his side his daughter stood, tall and proud and beautiful. Cersei Lannister had grown up before his eyes and there was no denying that she was truly splendid to behold.

Her green eyes landed on him. A small smile played upon her lips. Rhaegar nodded her head at her but looked away as soon as humanly possible. It would not do to pay her too much attention for the simple reason that it was a tendency among noble ladies to assume that any man who spared more than a few second of attention upon them was necessarily in love with them.

It was a useful enough notion for seduction, he supposed, but not at all true. That aside, Cersei Lannister was to be his brother’s bride at some point. The subject had been broached with the Hand of the king and it had been agreed upon that the two concerned would find out at an appropriate moment about the arrangement. Rhaegar was much aware that his father was actively seeking some reason to put a halt to that particular understanding. Yet that something had to come from Cersei for it not to be perceived as an insult to the House of Lannister. Those proud lions were more trouble than they were worth.

The hearing was just about to begin. The King strode in and the sea of people parted to allow him to pass. Two brothers of the Kingsguard followed him, remaining at the foot of the throne as he ascended the stairs and took his customary place. Rhaegar closed his eyes but a moment and opened them again.

The Lord Hand walked away from his daughter and he too walked to where Rhaegar was standing. With a wave of his hand the King declared that they could begin.

“Come forth those of you who wish to petition the King,” Tywin Lannister spoke loudly over the din.

Trader and peasants had brought more complaints about the dangers on the road. A ship master spoke of unrest in the lands of the Ironborn. Some minor lords were squabbling over a piece of land and demanded that the King solve their conflict. Merchants from Essos sought to have the taxes lowered for their products. Rhaegar stood where he was, still as a slab of stone. His father sorted through the problems one by one, from time to time asking the Lord Hand for supplementary information. Generally, he had enough knowledge not to need Tywin Lannister’s interventions though.

“There is, Your Majesty, another petition from Lord Bracken for the piece of land he disputes with Lord Blackwood.” An old feud, Rhaegar thought as the words reached his ears. It was likely that it would never end even if the King did rule it one way or the other. And the King, of course, dismissed the matter for the moment.

“Is that all, my Lord Hand?” Aerys questioned, preparing to sit up from the throne.

But before a reply could be given a short shriek from the back of the hall caught the attention of all. Once more, the crowd parted and two guards came carrying in an injured man. Rhaegar felt a pang in his stomach. The poor fellow looked like he had been dragged behind a horse added to which that one eye had been gouged out and a blooded bandage covered the wound.

“What is this?” Tywin demanded of the men. “This is the King’s hall, you cannot bring here whomever you wish.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Majesty,” the bravest of the two men said, “but we found him wondering and mumbling about a Lady Stark and a band of outlaws.”

In that moment Rhaegar swore that the whole sky had shattered and fallen onto him, such was the weight the words had brought upon him. The King stood up from his seat and demanded that the man repeat what he had said. “He claimed that Lady Stark and her company had fallen in the hands of a band of outlaws, a brotherhood of foul men that demand coin for the release of their prisoner.”

“This was found on him, Your Majesty,” the other man finally spoke, holding out a small pouch to whoever was willing to take it. “The man would use this as proof that he speaks true.”

The reason for which the man himself was not speaking was because he was more dead than alive. Rhaegar stepped before Lord Lannister and took the proffered pouch. He emptied it into his and as his eyes came upon what it contained a stab of pain speared his heart.

“Give me that,” his father spoke roughly. Rhaegar complied without much thought.

In the King’s hand shone a delicate piecework of moonstone and white gold flowers, the exact same necklace Lyanna wore around her neck since she’d received it upon her nameday. It was true then, it had to be. Lyanna had truly been captured. But what of the Kingsguards sent to protect her, what of her father’s men? Rhaegar clenched his fist at his side, teeth pressing tightly together so as to not allow any sound past.

“What are you waiting for?” came the voice of their ruler. “Bring the maesters and restore the man so he may tell us what had happened.” He shoved at the Lord Hand impatiently. “Find how much gold and silver we have. Get my Master of Laws while you’re at it and alert the City Watch that I have need of every available man.”

Rhaegar stood frozen, watching the unfolding scene as if through the eyes of someone else. It felt rather like he had lived through such moments before. The King turned to him, “As for you, my son, gather your wits about you.”

The voice startled him. Rhaegar managed to control his body long enough to give a sharp nod. As if sensing the worrisome state his son was in the Aerys placed a hand upon his shoulder. “It is not the time to lose yourself now. You must be strong. If not for yourself then for her.”

Was this what his mother had felt when he came with news of the King’s capture. He hadn’t understood then. But it was crippling, it was so frightening. “Let us go, Your Majesty,” he said in the end.

They left behind the throne room, giving no ear to the tumult and noise behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You won't believe how hard a time I had of choosing between a gouged eye and a missing ear for our soldier...in the end I went with the eye, because, reasons...
> 
> I'm a fiend.
> 
> I'm rubbing my hand together smiling evilly because you guys have no idea what I have planned for dear Lyanna.
> 
> But still, you got Viserys devouring books...literally.


	28. xxviii. Lyanna VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Smiling Knight ahead...Proceed with care

As soon as her feet touched the ground, Lyanna felt the overwhelming need to run. There were however not one, but two issues which put a swift death upon her desire. The first was that the criminal responsible for her had twisted his fingers in her unbound hair and held her on a leash by that. The other, and most important, was that she’d been carrie3d over a man’s shoulder like a sack of grain and knew not where she was. Therefore, running was impossible.

“Walk,” the man ordered when she stopped, tugging on her hair enough that needles should pierce her scalp.

Obeying, Lyanna took a few more steps before she was roughly pushed to the ground. A few jeers emerged from some other men. Lyanna said nothing. She was determined not to show them a lick of emotion. Her captor grabbed one of her feet, thick fingers enclosing around her ankle and something heavy and cold followed soon after.

It was a shackle. Lyanna’s fingers frantically searched the metal for answers. But it had none to give and only caused some of the spectators to laugh.

“Keep her away from the others,” a voice said, perhaps their leader. “And none of you touch her. You hear? This one is more important than all of the lords of the realm put together.” Someone whistled at the declaration.

“All of the lords of the realm?” another repeated.

“Aye, Ulmer, all the lords in the realm,” came the assurance. “Which is why I won’t trust any of you fools with her. “Wenda, watch her and make sure that no one touches her.”

A woman? Lyanna could not hide her surprise. Why would any woman in her right mind wish to be part of such a vile gathering, Lyanna could not possibly imagine. Yet even she knew when she was being protected. A woman alone was a woman in danger. Especially one who was at the moment friendless, weaponless and truly blind.

“I still say we might have the wrong one,” the one that had been addressed as Ulmer claimed. “Look at her.” Presumably she was being assessed because a short silence followed. “There’s barely enough of her to chain.”

“It is of no matter to me how much there is of her or not,” the other quipped. “And neither should it matter to you. She’ll fetch coin and that is the only use I need of her.”

The sound of footsteps grew nearer. Lyanna half expected that that Wenda character had finally come. But it proved no so. Rough fingers underneath her chin forced her head up. Lyanna complied after a few moments of instinctive resistance and a warning hiss from whoever was in front of her.

“If you want those companions of yours to see another day you’ll not give me cheek, lady,” the leader spoke harshly to her. “Don’t think I won’t give you a good beating and cut off some tongues and finger from those men while I’m at it if you fail to listen. Is that understood?”

“Aye,” she replied quickly for fear that he might actually go through with those promises.

“Good,” he stood, apparently convinced of whatever he had wished to be convinced of.

In the next moment sharp pain assaulted her. Lyanna could not help the shriek that flew past her lips. A boot clad foot was pressing with quite some force upon her unrestrained ankle. Bone and flesh protested as they could. After some time of pressing her painfully, the man lifted his foot off her ankle and Lyanna’s hands, fingers trembling violently, wrapped around the abused leg.

“Wenda, enough ogling the captives. Come here and do your duty,” he yelled out after the women.

“I’m here, I’m here,” a female voice replied. Lyanna listened carefully to the low, husky voice so she might place it if need ever be. “Can’t you give me at least one of them?”

“Nay, this time not. Go watch the lady,” the leader answered.

Few matters were certain in life, but among them Lyanna knew that the biggest certainty of all was death. Unavoidable and impossible to defeat, death would claim all at some point or another. For her sake and that of the men who had accompanied her she hoped that death would claim the band of outlaws soon.

The rustling of cloth and a small grunt accompanied Wenda’s sitting down. “Ulmer’s right,” she sneered at a long last. “You are a very small thing, aren’t you?’ Long fingers wrapped around her shoulder, pushing down. Lyanna shuddered but offered no reply. The hand continued to search her, leaving on a trail down her arm. “I reckon you won’t even be as tall as me when fully grown.”

Neither agreeing nor disagreeing, Lyanna struggled to block the woman’s voice out. But Wenda did not care for her replies. “Ah, but you cannot see. I forgot a moment. To be sure, if we were to peel the flesh of your bones, we’d find only some tiny bones. Not enough to feed a hound, I should think.”

A short moment of silence followed. When again Lyann had nothing to say, Wenda continued. “One of the men we captured bears a striking resemblance to you, lady. I think him a brother or cousin. How much is he worth to you?”

“I cannot name a price for someone so dear to me,” she found herself speaking, “and I have no coin to pay the amount my mind conjures.”

“Aye, you wouldn’t,” the outlaw laughed. “And we have taken all jewellery you had in those small coffers. Very pretty. But there is something you could give me. To make sure no harm befalls your kin. A token, if you will.”

“What do you want of me?” Lyanna questioned with swiftness.

“Nothing you would miss, lady,” came the promise. “I see your dress has been sewn with threads of gold and silver. A very pretty dress, though you likely cannot appreciate the craftsmanship. And since you cannot see it and would not miss it in any even, lady, give it to me and I shall see to it that no ill befalls your kin.”

It was a splendid dress. Lyanna knew it well and she had worn it for a reason. Yet she could depart from it if it meant her brother would be safe. She agreed to the trade and was given to cover herself a serviceable gown of wool. A simple thing they must have found among her other dresses.

***

“What is this my eyes see?” an unfamiliar voice startled Lyanna out of her state of semi consciousness. “What manner of mischief have you set up this time, Toyne? I leave for a few days and you will the camp?”

Lyanna’s nights were spent in a crude little hut that was guarded by Wenda who, surprisingly enough, had kept her word. Even more she had allowed Lyanna once or twice to exchange a few words with Ned. However, not deluded into thinking that might denote a mellowing on the part of the outlaws, she continued to search for chinks in the armour, anything that she might use to her advantage.

From next to her Wenda shifted too, her larger frame uncoiling. “He is back.” There was a subtle change to her voice. Lyanna sat up. “Fear not, little lady, you are of more worth to us in good state than as sport.”

The assurance failed to warm Lyanna’s heart, but she nonetheless nodded her head in understanding. The voices coming from outside once more rang loud in her ears.

“And here is the woman,” Toyne was saying, no doubt leading the newcomer into the small hut. “Stand up,” he growled to Lyanna, who hurried to comply, lest she incur his wrath and bring harm to others. “Exactly as said, small, dark haired and blind.”

“This is her?” the unknown man asked. Lyanna heard the straw crunch beneath the men’s feet. She instinctively edged backwards. But Wend’s hand at her back blocked her escape. “So pretty.” The stranger’s hands grabbed at one of her tangled locks. “Wenda, why are you not caring for her? Look at this.”

“I am not a Septa,” Wenda argued. “She can brush her own hair.”

“Have a care how you speak, wench,” Toyne rebuked her. “As for her,” and Lyanna assumed he was speaking of her, “she is here to bring us money, not to be pampered. If you want her hair brushed, do it yourself, ser.”

“Very well.” Lyanna would have expected many a thing from these people, not the least of which was pretending. There was something about the man who spoke, about his very aura, that made her uneasy, though he’d been perfectly, and at the same time strangely, courteous to her. “My lady, I understand the circumstances of your stay with us are not exactly ideal, however, I hope you can look past that and enjoy the company provided.”

Nearly choking on a chortle of disbelief, Lyanna scrambled to form a reply. “I am sure it shall be so,” she hesitated, “ser.”

“Right you are maiden, for I am truly a ser,” the man continued. “They call me the Smiling Knight. And since every lady should have a knight to protect her, I shall be yours in this camp of heathens.”

A mummery, Lyanna finally understood, was what was desired of her. This knight, it mattered not whether he truly was one or not, wished the role of hero. “I thank you then good ser,” she said, hoping not to have missed her cue.

“I believe I shall take her outside,” the knight said, and without so much as a by your leave, he heaved her up in his arms and carried her off.

In the close proximity she found herself to him, Lyanna was hit by the sweet smell that came off of him. Whereas most of her captors smelled of sweat and dust, with the notable exception of Wenda who smelled of soap, the knight smelled fresh. An interesting thing to be sure. Lyanna waited to be set down, but the man seemed not to have planned upon that. Instead it was he who sat down and she who was perched upon his lap. Roaring laughter came from all around. Heat touched her cheeks and Lyanna fumed silently at the humiliation.

“Quiet, fools!” the knight roared. “Be off.” His hand slid against her back, securing his hold on her. “Be not afeared, gentle lady, I mean you no harm. ‘Tis just that you remind me of mine Ethyl. How I loved Ethyl, as much as any man loved his daughter, I tell you.”

“You have a daughter?” Lyanna was possibly grasping at straws for all she knew. The man could be lying, yet it would not hurt to at least try. “Ethyl is her name?”

“Had,” he corrected gently. “Ethyl died.”

“I regret to hear it,” she offered somewhat awkwardly.

“I killed her myself.” The admission startled Lyanna. “Aye. With my own hands. Her and her mother. Do you know how?”

“Nay,” Lyanna whispered.

“Of course, you were not present,” he laughed. “I came upon her mother swiving the butcher and cut them both where they stood. When I turned around, Ethyl was standing there, staring at me with wide eyes. She had the most beautiful eyes, blue as the sky. But they were not happy, her eyes. Nay.” He stopped as if to gather his thoughts. Lyanna gulped softly when his hand slid to her hip, fingers pressing into her flesh. It was not a touch that bespoke of desire, that at least she knew.

“And what happened?” she urged him on fearfully.

“Patience,” the knight admonished. Lyanna waited. But then suddenly she found herself dropped for her perch and falling to the ground. Before she could even gather her wits about her, cold steel was kissing her neck and the man continued his story. “I asked her not to look at me so, but she wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t. So I caught her just so,” he demonstrated his point by pinning her to the ground with a knee to her chest, “and drove my sword through her. Ten strikes for her ten years. One for each year. She didn’t dare look at me crossly after.”

He then pulled her to her feet. “But you are different, are you not, maiden? You shan’t look crossly at me?” It confused Lyanna to no end how he could jump from pleasant to violent and from begging to threatening.

“Of course I shan’t, good ser knight,” she hurriedly got the words past her lips. He horrified her. Lyanna felt her stomach roil in protest. She struggled to keep from showing it.

“How good you are,” he complimented, patting her tangled hair gently. “You shall be my Ethyl if I ask it of you?”

“Aye, with pleasure,” Lyanna replied, anything not to have a sword slicing through her ten times. “If it should please you, ser.”

“Beyond what words can express,” he answered and his voice held such candour that Lyanna was overwhelmed and quite despairing for a moment. What sort of man was this? A devil most likely. “Come, Ethyl, give me your hand. Let us see what capture Toyne has yielded.”

She followed without a word, paying to all the gods that she might survive the ordeal. If she did, she would see the lot of them hanged for their crimes.

***

They were drinking. Lyanna had tried refusing, but the knight’s insistence and the threat of harm coning upon innocents saw her taking small sips of whatever drink they’d provided her with. The taste of it was bitter and unpleasant, the stench even more repugnant, but having little choice, Lyanna continued to partake on the orders of the Smiling Knight.

“It is such a pity that we have to give her back,” the knight was speaking, presumably to Toyne. “Is it truly impossible to keep her?”

“None of your games, ser,” Toyne replied acidly. He sounded rather like a father scolding and errant child. “You have killed two of my best men on this day.”

“They were looking at her,” the knight excused his crimes. “I warned them. They chose not to listen.”

It had been some days since they’d taken the captives and since his arrival the knight had been like a constant shadow, or rather Lyanna had acted as the shadow. He insisted that she follow him through the camp, allowing her at times to wander off a few paces, but inevitably calling her back if she went too far. Since speaking of Ethyl he hadn’t harmed her anymore, nor had he left any other bruises, but she had already learned to fear him and that would not wash off despite his subsequent gentle manner. The man, Lyanna thought, was well and truly insane, and deadly with a sword.

Since he’d brought her no harm, that had left him with enough time to bring harm to others. He had spoken the truth when he said that two of Toyne’s men had been looking at her. They’d even called out a few insulting comments, but while Lyanna had ignored them, the knight had understood it for a challenge. She remembered only the screams and that the execution had been quick. She could not call it anything but an execution. Afterwards the knight had presented her with his trophies, the heads of the two men.

His protection was useful to her for the moment, yet as she also feared him, Lyanna been thinking about how she could escape him. The only time when he was not with her was when she slept and there Wenda was her gaoler and the woman was quite good at what she did. Still, there had to be something she could do.

“Ser,” Lyanna called to the knight, “this drink is quite good.”

“What have I told you Ethyl? Call me father.” The reply came in a voice that suggested she ought to obey. “Like the ale, do you?” She nodded. “Very well, then. You have been quite good.”

“Many thanks, father,” she forced herself to say. She would never understand what went on in that sick head of the man’s. “Father, may I have a reward, if I have truly been as good as you claim?”

Toyne laughed. “I like your spirit, lady. But I rule here. If you wish for something, it is to me that you must come.”

“Apologies,” Lyanna murmured.

“A reward she shall have though,” the knight cut in. “Toyne, let her walk free. She cannot run anywhere.”

With some difficulty Toyne was convinced to unshackle her leg and Lyanna was passed into Wenda’s care for the men would be soon gathering to make plans. Wenda unwilling to miss hearing it pushed her along roughly. “Listen well, I shall leave you with your kin for a few moments. Try anything and I shall personally see to it that not one of your companions fares all too well. Understood?”

At a nod of her head, Lyanna was released and set upon another path. Wenda took her to where Lyanna knew Ned and the others were chained and called the guards off with her. “Leave them, they are chained. Toyne has called a gathering.”

“Lyanna,” Ned whispered, grunting slightly when she slammed into him, trying with some difficulty to wrap her arms around him.

“Ned,” she cried happily. “Brother.”

“Are you unharmed?” Arthur’s familiar voice came to her ears next.

“Aye, I am well. But have they harmed any of you?” The thought of it sickened her, but she had to ask.

“Nay. They are none too gentle, but they did not deliberately set out to harm us,” Arthur explained. “Most of them are peasants who have been impoverished by too many taxes.”

“Is there still no news of the King?” she inquired.

“Nay, there is not,” Ned responded, “but according to the talk that has spread through camp, the date upon which Toyne called for the reward is but two days away. This shall be over soon, sister, I promise you.”

“I know,” Lyanna answered. She pulled away from Ned ands searched the fitted sleeve of her dress. “I managed to find this. I do not know if it’ll be much help, but I thought to bring it all the same.”

When the men had been drinking one of them had dropped something to the ground. Since no one had paid her much mind at the time, some for fear of the knight’s retribution other simply because she could not possibly escape, Lyanna had picked the object up and hid it in her sleeve.

“A knife,” Ned said. “Give it to Dayne. A little to your right.”

Following Ned’s instructions Laynna managed to place the weapon into Arthur’s hands, but nothing more of words could be exchanged for the guards were returning and with the Wends who was cursing something foul and loud, angered no doubt about something Toyne had said. It was her custom to get angry at Toyne.

Lyanna was ordered away. In her rage Wenda dragged her about without much care for Lyanna. That resulted in many tripping and falling of Lyanna’s part and quite a few bruises. Wenda, far from being sympathetic, cursed at her too. “If you stumble one more time, I’ll break both your legs and give you a true reason to fall.”

Of course given that Lyanna could nor truly help it, Wenda did not make good on her threat. Instead she slowed her pace. But even so, Lyanna’s abused legs found it rather difficult to keep up. She clung to the hope that rescue would come soon.

Once inside the shelter provided for her, Lyanna crawled to the reed mat she’d been sleeping on and curled into herself, hoping that slumber could come soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help is on its way and no one had been irreparably damaged.
> 
> I think I've been more than kind. :)
> 
> PS. Is this story getting boring or something?
> 
> Also, completely unrelated, I hope that some day GRRM will give me (and I say me because I simply can't speak for anyone else but myself) irrefutable proof that Lyanna and Rhaegar loved each other...because fangirl reason.


	29. xxix. Arthur I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the new chapter...dear all.
> 
> Hopefully you'll enjoy it.

The light haired woman gave him a sharp smile, her dark eyes twinkling with something that made Arthur shudder. His grip tightened on the knife he held at his back. Wenda the White Fawn they called her and she was an outlaw through and through despite her pretty face.

At first glance one would even be tempted to name her a lady of good birth. Until she opened her mouth, that was. Arthur met her gaze, holding it challengingly. She did not flinch, not did she looked away. Her eyes fixed him, both admiring and desirous. It was not something Arthur lacked experience with to be sure.

He’d heard tales of her, of course. Most noblemen of Westeros had, truth be told. She was famous for branding her victims. Somehow though, they had escaped such a treatment. Arthur thought it had to do more with Lyanna then with them. But still, one did not look a gift horse in the mouth. It was enough for him that the woman sat a safe distance away. Eyes could not hurt and her looking was not dangerous in itself.

“I think she likes you,” Ned commented, rather cheek in tongue, despite their precarious situation. “She keeps staring our way.”

“Let her,” Arthur said softly. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage. She was a foul creature to be sure, despite the mask she hid behind. Still, like all women, she must, if truly attracted to him, be susceptible to swaying.

“Look there,” Ned distracted him. “That knight had Lyanna again.”

The Smiling Knight, as he was called, did indeed have Lyanna. He pulled on the chain attacked to her shackle as if she were a pet to follow him about. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek to stave the anger that surged through him. Another odious creature, that fellow, and insane too,

There was talk among the men that he had at some point been a trusted knight of a great lord, though no one named any names, and that he’d taken his liege’s wife, after some daughter, to bed. Caught by the man, he’d somehow managed to escape justice and fled into the night.

His heart, however, had remained in his master’s keep, with the wife or daughter. He had thus returned to steal away the woman only to discover that his absence hadn’t been mourned as he thought it would be. The lady to whom he’d given his heart had found herself another knight to keep her company. Driven half mad by rage and jealousy he had apparently butchered the woman and her lover and lay in waiting for the lord to return from wherever he’d gone.

When the lord did return, he found the corpses of his wife and her lover strewn on the bed as they’d been caught, in an amorous embrace. But the crazed knight would not be satisfied with just those two victims. He allowed the lord but a few moments to admire his work before jumping on him and slicing his steel through the man’s head, splitting the skull in two.

According to some, he still kept the skull as a trophy, though Arthur would be much surprised if that were true. Insane as the man was, he had yet to see a skull dangling in his presence. It was likely only rumour that claimed any such existed.

His eyes narrowed as the knight sat upon a thick log and placed Lyanna on his knee. “What in the name of the Seven is he doing?” Lyanna had, of course, flushed red at the treatment, though she remained still. Arthur could not be sure what the man had done to her, but it was clear that she feared him.

“I think he’s combing her hair,” Ned answered just as bewildered as Arthur himself felt.

Indeed, the man was holding a comb which he used to presumably untangle the knots in Lyanna’s hair. Arthur did not know if he ought to laugh or to somehow escape his binding and drive the knife he held through the repulsive creature’s neck. The second option at least would have provided him with entertainment. Still, he chose to remain as he was. After all, the satisfaction would be all the greater when free of any obstacles he would cut off the man’s head from his shoulders.

“My poor sister,” Ned whispered when the knight roughly shoved her off to grab at his sword and chase one of Toyne’s men into a cluster of trees. Whatever he’d said were to be his last words. When the knight returned, his sword was stained with blood, gore dripping from the steel onto the grass.

He took Lyanna’s hand and made her grab the blade. Arthur could only see a dark red stain forming on the front of her gown as blood dripped down. He could not tell if the blood was hers, should she have sliced her hand open on the edge of the sword, or the man’s who’d just perished. What was clear, however, was that she looked ready to cast her accounts.

It was no way to treat a highborn lady. It was no way to treat anyone really. But then the knight picked her up in his arms, as easy as one would claim a ragdoll and sat back down, holding her to him. There was something about the way he treated her that put Arthur on edge. He was protecting her up until a point, that much was clear, but not knowing his motives made him suspicious, and more than that quite dangerous.

“Patience,” Arthur found himself saying. “We must wait for the right moment. They are bound to let their guard down at some point or another.”

“We are too few,” Ned reminded him. Most of the men were in no condition to fight.

“Which is why we are still waiting. Let them give us an opportunity.” A short silence followed those words.

“And if they do not?” his conversation partner insisted. “What shall we do then?”

“Then we make an opportunity,” he answered. It was truly all they could do given the situation they found themselves in.

Arthur sighed and leaned his head back against the tree they’d been bound to. Another feast would serve them well enough but he did not know what chance there was of that happening. And the King’s forces and ransom were still one day away. It was not that long a time but with these men, even a day mattered.

***

Wenda came towards them carrying a small bowl in one hand and some bread in the other. The guards looked at her with knowing smiles to which she replied with a curse that had Arthur’s ears ringing. He was, however, curious at her approach.

The White Fawn sat down before them, but entirely ignoring Ned, she focused her attention on Arthur. “That lady of yours is perhaps the most annoying captive we’ve ever had the grace of entertaining,” she spoke at length. “If she were not worth so many coin I’d have slit her throat by now.”

“Would you have?” Arthur goaded her. “From where I stand she seems obedient enough.” And poor Lyanna was, for some reason.

“And that is the problem,” Wenda said, placing the bowl down and dipping bread in it. It was some sort of soup, Arthur realised. They hadn’t been fed much but a couple of bites of bread each, to keep them from wasting away rather than to keep them strong. Arthur stared suspiciously at the food she presented him with. “I’ve not poisoned it,” she promised.

As if to demonstrate she bit into it, chewed and swallowed. She wanted something from him and Arthur could not tell what it was. “Why are you speaking to me?” he demanded.

“You are in no position to make demands,” she pointed out. She looked over her shoulder at the guards. They’d stopped paying attention to the prisoners and were instead laying a game of dice. “That lady of yours, she is a fool. She thinks to protect everyone by following every order thrown her way. He’ll grow bored with her obedience soon enough.”

“He? The Smiling Knight?” His question was answered with a nod.

“Perhaps that not even Toyne might be able to stop him once one of his moods is upon him.” Once more she smiled, a cruel stretch of lips. “I’m sure you’ve heard some of the stories whispered about him. I’ll tell you this. Even if none of them is true, they should not be discounted.” She stood up and kicked the bow of soup with her foot.

The hot liquid spread on the grass, dampening it. “Understand this, however you are, he thinks she belongs to him.” And with those words, Wenda turned around and was gone before Arthur could ask her anything else.

Ned, who had been silent the whole time, though Arthur was certain he’d been listening, let out a long sigh. “Are you certain we cannot slit their throats as they sleep?”

“There’s too many of them and much too few of us.” Of course he would like nothing better than to do just that and be done with it, yet such a move would put Lyanna at risk. Had she been held anywhere near them, they might have had a chance of running away. As it was, they’d have to cross more than half the camp to reach the small hut where she spent her nights.

And even there she was not alone. If the Smiling Knight didn’t have her trailing after him, then Wenda kept her near and made sure she did not take a step more than what Toyne had allowed her. The only time they hadn’t kept such a careful watch of her was when they’d feasted. One could only hope they’d be counting on their success and drinking once more. Mayhap addled in the brain they’d be easier targets to deal with. Arthur dearly wished that the gods would see fit to intervene. But as that was truly not possible, they would have to find something themselves.

“She might have been lying,” Ned ventured.

Arthur gave him a hard stare. “Even if she was, that does not mean we are in any less danger.”

“Then we had best keep our eyes open and wait for that opportunity you’ve spoken of,” the younger man shrugged.

On that they agreed. Arthur tested the ropes that bound his hands. He’d been cutting a little of them at a time, bound as they were behind his back. It was not quite as easy a task to accomplish when one’s eyes could not witness the process, yet he had managed it well enough.

Dusk was quickly drawing upon them. Before long fires were lit and men gathered around them, eating and drinking noisily. Arthur looked for Lyanna, but she was not to be seen. The knight was sitting on his log, his customary seat some would claim, but there was not sight of her. Wenda was sitting around another campfire, bickering with stout man over something or another. Once again, Lyanna was lacking.

He’d been certain that one of them would have her. Arthur cursed softly. Ned too seemed to have noticed his sister’s absence. He tensed at Arthur’s side. They exchanged a short look and nodded at one another.

Watching the men eat and drink, Arthur felt new hope spring inside of him when tankards of ale were brought out and wine as well. They meant to celebrate something. Likely as not Lyanna had been left in the hut so as to not attempt anything and not be in the way of her captors. It was just as well, Arthur thought.

The only thing he lacked was a true weapon. Lyanna’s knife was useful enough for cutting rope, but it was swords they had need of if they were to truly free themselves.

The feasting went on long into the dark night. By the time that most of the outlaws were falling to the ground from too much drink, by Arthur’s count, it was nearly midnight. At least the men guarding them had imbibed so much that they’d fallen asleep. That would save some time, Arthur reckoned. Not that he would have hesitated to kill them himself if there was need for it.

In the end, most of the outlaws wrapped themselves in thick cloaks to ward off the chill of the night. There was not one of them who thought to keep watch for some reason. But as the mistakes of enemies were perfect opportunities, Arthur did not hesitate to free his hands from the ropes wrapped around them. He then set about liberating the men.

Without further ado, one of them silently went for a guard, snapped the man’s neck and took his sword. The second guard suffered the same fate. Two swords were hardly enough, but they’d have to do for the time being.

“One of you find a horse and ride on the Kingsroad. The ransom must be of its way. Lead however brings it here.” His instructions were received with a nod by a young man who then silently crept away in search of a beast to ride. “You two, take the bodies and hide them. Take their clothes as well while you’re at it. The rest, find some weapons.”

It was lucky that none awoke and all his men did return with weapons. Arthur instructed them back in their initial positions, short swords concealed at their backs.

“And now we wait.”

***

Great was the surprise of Arthur when the Prince himself rode into the enemy camp. Of course, Rhaegar had not been a fool enough to come bearing the arms of his house. Instead he stood a simple knight with a modest but fitting armour and an open helm. Those who had never seen the face of the Prince would be none the wiser.

He spotted Arthur and they exchanged a meaningful look. The party he’d come with consisted of five men, each dragging a large wooden chest after their horse. Arthur watched as Toyne stepped forth and demanded to know what they had brought.

The drink had made them somewhat lax. Even as they woken up in the morning and set about making camp, they’d not noticed the missing men or the changed guards. Perhaps it was because people came and went into the camp and their great number was due to the fact that most were peasant from nearby settlements. His plan was working out perfectly and Arthur could not be more pleased if he tried.

One of the coffers was kicked over and a wealth of coin, gold and silver poured forth. “Here is the coin. Now show us Lady Lyanna,” the man at the front demanded. Arthur was not certain, but he thought he recognised Oswell Whent’s voice.

“But of course,” Toyne said, eyeing the bounty greedily. “Have the lady brought here,” he snapped at Wenda who grimaced back at him, but broke away from the group and walked towards the hut. Arthur only then realised that the door had been barred.

Wend came dragging a resistant Lyanna behind her. Still, stronger, Wenda had little problem carrying her task to completion. “Here she is,” she pushed Lyanna forward. “Look up, lady, so they may see your face.”

But when Lyanna looked up, the blood chilled in Arthur’s veins. Smooth pale skin had been known to grow red under due to blood rush, but the redness of Lyanna’s skin could not be thus accounted for. Arthur glanced at Wenda’s hand. His eyebrows knitted together. A small trickle of blood was running down her skin and a circular, slightly uneven wound was the source.

Next to him Ned choked on air. “She bit her,” he whispered. It would have been amusing in any other situation. “Gods.”

Gods indeed, Arthur thought when he looked at Rhaegar to see his fingers had curled tightly together. But he did nothing other than push his own coffer open and hold out some coin as proof that the King had indeed paid the price. The other followed his lead.

At the sight of so much money, Wenda came nearer to the men, holding Lyanna by the shoulder, alternatively pushing her forward and pulling her. “Come, lady, you are nearly there. A few more steps and both of us shall be free,” she said loudly as a jape. Lyanna threw her head back rather like an irritated mare and did not deign to offer any other answer.

It was only when she had reached Whent that all hell broke loose. From somewhere behind a line of trees an arrow was fired. Ned sprang up from his position, baring his sword and, seeing that, the outlaws drew their own swords.

“Dayne,” the Prince called out, “catch!” A heavy object was thrown his way.

Arthur was somewhat surprised but also very grateful to see Dawn. But that, he realised, left Rhaegar weaponless. The Prince, however, seemed more concerned with pulling Lyanna off of the ground than with making battle.

Oswell Whent held the first line of attack and soon a hulking man joined him. It was, without doubt, the White Bull. Arthur unsheathed Dawn and ran towards the enemy at full speed. He looked at Rhaegar from the corner of his eye and saw that the Prince had after all gained another weapon. Knowing that Lyanna would be well protected for the time being, Arthur crossed swords with the first man that he came upon on his path.

That enemy he cut down with ease and met another, then another and another. Arthur looked about to the diminishing number of the outlaw brotherhood. Some were running away, others were dead on the ground. Toyne was fighting the Bull and Whent had taken on both Wenda and a man named Ben.

Steel flashed in the sunlight. Arthur raised Dawn instinctively and another sword came crashing down upon it with much force. He staggered under the weight for a moment and the face of the Smiling Knight filled his vision. Balance became a precarious thing as his opponent became more and more insistent.

A yell from behind him alerted Arthur that another foe approached. He saw Rhaegar join the fray and cut that man down though. Arthur gritted his teeth and pushed back. The sudden shove had the knight stepping backwards.

“What a magnificent sword,” he commented as his eyes came upon Dawn.

Arthur charged at his and the blades crossed again, only this time, Dawn’s bite proved stronger. The knight’s own word broke like a brittle twig. He could have ended the man there, but it would have been unfair and Arthur could not, despite how atrocious a monster the Smiling Knight was, be unfair in combat.

Instead he allowed his adversary the pull a fresh sword from one of the corpses. “Indeed, a good sword,” he commented, testing his new weapon. “But it is not the one I want. I wish for your sword.”

“Then you shall have it, ser.” And onward he carried, slashing at his foe in quick succession, more so to annoy and tire him than to cause injury. The madmen’s eyes glinted with enjoyment. Arthur gritted his teeth and blocked a strike that threatened to split open his abdomen.

All that he needed was an opening. He circled the knight, deftly avoiding injury. And then, as if the gods themselves planted the idea upon him, it struck Arthur that the man was not guarding his left side properly.

He brought Dawn sweeping in, feigning an attack to the head and the knight raised his sword to parry and then he abruptly changed directions. Arthur pushed forward, embedding Dawn into the man’s left side and hauled it up, cutting through flesh and cloth and light armour.

The Smiling Knight fell to his knees, blood and laughter bubbling upon his lips.

Arthur raised Dawn and struck his head off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This author would like to apologise for the battle scene. My expertise only goes as far as martial arts, so sword-fighting is not really my forte. I tried, though and I pray it came believable enough. 
> 
> Other than that, Lyanna has been saved, you had Arthur's famous words and a Wenda that has been branded herself (let's see how she likes that).
> 
> So, pleased?


	30. xxx. Rhaella V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah!

Viserys chewed nosily on the lemon cake as Aegon described what he had found in the kitchens. Rhaella half listened to the boy, while at the same time looking to her next to oldest son. Daeron was struggling to read some maester’s work, his face showing signs of both exhaustion and annoyance. Id said annoyance was directed at Aegon’s prattling, Jaehaerys’ reciting out loud of poetry or Viserys’ noisy chewing, Rhaella could not rightly tell.

“And it was so small, mother. I could hold it in my hand.” Aegon proceeded to demonstrate his point by grabbing a blood orange and waving it in front of her face. “All black and shiny, with twitching ears. Can I have one? Please, mother. I promise to take good care of it. I promise.”

For a brief moment Rhaella looked at him in confusion, her mind not making the connection. But then she understood clearly enough what he was asking her. A thoughtful look crossed her face. She loved her sons, truly she did, but one day they would drive her well and truly up the wall.

Recently one of the kitchen cats had pupped. That meant a new litter had taken residence within the palace. Furthermore, it appeared that Aegon had found it and became enamoured with one of the creatures, though as he broke the skin of the blood orange she was sure she could see scratches on his hands.

“We already have Sixpence,” Daeron cut in, slamming his tome shut. “Why would you need another pet besides?”

“Sixpence is a dog,” Aegon answered staring with incredulity towards his older brother. “I want a cat.”

From his place near the hearth, Sixpence looked at them, dark eyes shining with what Rhaella could swear was hurt. “Cats scratch, Aegon, and they kill birds,” she added after a short moment of silence. “Why would you want one?”

“That is not fair,” her son cried, “Sixpence used to hunt rabbits.” He pouted up at her, his face a mixture of pleading and revolt. “Please, mother. I’ll teach it not to hunt birds.”

“If Aegon can have a pet, I want one too,” Jaehaerys started. “Can I have one of those yellow birds that sing so pretty?”

“No, you can’t,” Daeron laughed. “Aegon’s cat would make dinner of it.”

“I’ll just hang it somewhere up high,” Jaehaerys answered.

“Cat can climb,” Daeron rejoined.

Rhaella looked from one son to another. She could not believe how untouched they were by the problems of the realm. It was as if they had total trust in the ability of those put in charge with protecting them.

Daeron struck his tongue out at Jaehaerys who was glaring dagger at Aegon. “Don’t get a cat, Aegon, or I won’t have a canary. Choose something else.”

“Aye, Aegon, choose something else,” Daeron mocked shamelessly. “I propose a duck. I’m sure you’ll get along splendidly.”

“Daeron,” Rhaella chided him. She shot him a warning glance. Daeron pretended to be chastised. Rhaella knew better. She rubbed her temples to soothe the growing ache. “Aegon, this is not a responsibility to be taken lightly. If you wish to take in a pet, you will be expected to care for it.”

“I already promised I will,” he groused. “So, may I?” His eyes shone in anticipation.

Rhaella smiled sweetly at him. He was only asking for a cat after all. “Indeed, you may. But do not forget that you must never allow it in your father’s solar.” Aerys loathed cats ever since they were children and an impertinent tom had swiped at his face with sharp claws. The scar was no longer visible, but Aerys would not get close to any felines if he could help it.

“Well then I want my canary too,” Jaehaerys cried.

“And you shall have one, Jaehaerys, provided that you do care for it. Do you promise?” Rhaella demanded of him, watching him sternly.

“Aye, I won’t let Aegon’s cat anywhere near it,” the boy announced, watching his other brother smugly.

“Is there any pet you would like, Daeron?” she thought to ask, when looking upon her second son’s sullen face.

“Aye, a centaur,” came his mocking answer.

Narrowing her eyes at him, Rhaella tsked softly. “Kindly remember who you are speaking to.”

“Apologies,” Daeron retracted, flushing red. “I am happy with Sixpence, mother, and need no other pet.”

“Very well,” Rhaella sighed. “Then we shall get a cat and a canary. Aegon, I think I shall let you choose whichever one you wish for. Jaehaerys, I will speak to your father about the canary, aye?”

The matters seemed solved. At least until the youngest of her sons, as if woken from deep slumber, jumped to his feet. “I want a dragon,” he declared loudly.

Horrified, Rhaella realised that he’d likely been waiting for his turn. She was thinking of how to best let him know the impossibility of his demand when the task was fulfilled by Jaehaerys. “There are no dragons, stupid. You can’t have one.”

The harsh truth being made known to him, Viserys looked in confusion from one brother to another and the last towards her. Rhaella waited with baited breath. And she was not to be disappointed. In the next moment, her youngest’s eyes filled with tears and an ear-splitting cry rang through the room. “I want a dragon,” he wept, face reddening in despair and grief.

Aegon, who was closest to him, covered his ears and Jaehaerys took a step back as if to protect himself from the sound. Daeron glared at the boy. Rhaella took to her feet and approached her youngest son. She took the boy in her arms, kissed his brow softly and soothed him gently.

“Do not cry, my beloved child. If it is a dragon you want, then a dragon you shall get.” Though she had little idea how she could make that happen.

Viserys hid his face in her shoulder, small hiccups erupting form him every now and again. She could feel the tears soaking her gown. “He called me stupid,” the boy accused. Rhaella could almost feel another episode brewing.

“Jaehaerys apologise to your brother,” Rhaella commanded. “What have I said about calling each other names.”

Scowling, Jaehaerys looked like he might not do as she said. Rhaella raised one eyebrow expectantly. He pouted. “I apologise, Viserys, for calling you stupid,” he murmured after a few moment.

Viserys raised his head from her shoulder to look at his brother. “I did not hear you.”

***

Aerys gave her an incredulous stare. “A dragon?” he asked, eyebrows knitting in concern. “You mean to tell me that I have acquired through means unknown a cat, a canary and a dragon to my menagerie?”

“Nay, husband, you mistake me,” Rhaella answered. “There is no canary or dragon yet. You must find them.”

“Why would I ever do that?” Aerys demanded softly. “Have you not yet learned how to deny impertinent demands?” He grinned at her. Rhaella smiled back. It truly was amusing. She wondered if Daeron, Aegon and Jaehaerys could hear well on the other side of the door. It was nearly impossible not to laugh.

“Please, husband, ‘tis only pets they wish for. Do not be so cruel as to deny them.” Rhaella reckoned that she and Aerys would have done just fine in a mummer’s travelling show had they ever taken it into their head to do so.

Aerys slapped a hand to the top of his desk. “What is this? Disobedience in my own home?”

Rhaella chocked on her laughter and for a few moments she was quite unable to say anything. Aerys walked to where he’d left a cup of wine. He picked it up and handed it to her. Rhaella took a small sip and shook her head. “Disobedience? Not from me,” she assured him, holding the cup close to her chest to add to the dramatic effect. “’Tis the children.”

“The children,” Aerys repeated disbelievingly. “I will not tolerate this.” But he would. Rhaella thumped her foot loudly to the ground. From outside a few clearly defined gasps could be heard. Aerys came closer to her, so he could whisper without fear of being heard. “Do you think we’ve scared them?”

“Nonsense,” Rhaella replied. “But we should probably put an end to this. They must be impatient to hear what your reply to their demands is.”

With a grunt, Aerys stalked away from her. He walked towards the door and swung it open. Aegon, who had been, leaning his weight against it, crashing to the floor. “And this, my sons, is why we do not listen at doors,” Aerys calmly said. He helped the boy up and dusted him off. “Now, I understand you wish to speak to me about pets.”

Rhaella was not entire sure how he was doing it. Aerys had so many problems to deal with every day and yet he still found the time to be a father to their children. It was incredible. Rhaella sat down upon a chair and watched the negotiations proceed.

In the meantime, she could think about Lyanna’s situation in peace. Since finding out about her capture, Rhaella could do little but fret and worry her fingers and pace the length of her bedchamber or sit with the children. It was an uncomfortable feeling that of knowing that despite everything they’d done, they had failed to protect Lyanna. It was also frustrating beyond belief that the King’s best men should fall to common outlaws on the road.

Of course upon receiving the news, the Queen had sworn her boys would know nothing of it. Consequently, all four of them had been assured that despite the delay, Lyanna would be arriving soon. Yet thinking upon it, Rhaella knew a thousand things could go wrong. And Rhaegar had insisted on going himself. Fain of the mother who had only daughters, for their children were much safer. Daughters were not expected to prove their worth in battle or win back captives. And she could but wait for his return, her heart torn between grief and joy.

“That settles it then,” Aerys’s voice drew her out of her thoughts. “A cat, a canary and a dragon for the three of you. Now be off with you, for I must speak to your mother.”

Thankfully, the boys did remember they were supposed to thank their father and each of them, one by one, bowed and murmured words of gratitude. Rhaella beamed at them. and they were soon off to their play.

“Is there no news yet?” Rhaella questioned, leaving the comfort of the chair to be engulfed in her husband’s arms. “It has been too long, Aerys. Much too long.” She worried. She could not help it. She worried for Lyanna and she worried for Rhaegar and she worried for the realm. “I just want to know them all well and see them before my eyes. Surely I do not ask for too much.”

The consequences of losing them were unthinkable to her. Naturally, she knew very well that a younger son would have to take the burden of the crown upon himself. It was not the dynasty which concerned her, but the fact that all her life she had been living under the prophecy the witch has spoken of and when it had been confirmed, she had sworn that she would see it through to the end.

“And so you shall, my Queen, when the time comes,” Aerys assured her. “There have been no ravens yet. I am sure, however, that they will come soon. Have some faith.” Usually it was she who dispensed with wise words. “They will return.”

“Would that they made haste,” she said, though without truly meaning it. “Have you decided what you shall do with the brotherhood?” That had been one of his worried. “How are they to be punished, husband?” Their heinous crimes merited, to Rhaella’s mind at least, the harshest of all possible punishments. Yet law may still contradict her and allow them to live.

Aerys sighed. “Thievery on the high road earns one a noose around the neck. I would have preferred beheadings though.”

“So long as they perish, I am willing and more than satisfied to accept hangings,” Rhaella offered. At least the realm would be rid of one pest, though others would likely take their place in short time. ‘Twas the way of the world, Rhaella reckoned and not much could be done for it.

“Have you contacted the witch?” he asked her suddenly, pulling her away from her considerations. Rhaella stared at him lost for a moment. “The witch,” Aerys repeated. “You are truly far away today.”

“Forgive me,” she cleared her throat. “Aye, I’ve had her summoned. For all the good that might do. She is a seer, I fear, not a healer.”

“Still, she might be needed.” At those words, Rhaella nodded. He was right, of course, she might be needed. “Though I hope ‘tis not the case.”

Whatever witchcraft the woman practiced, if it could possibly help Lyanna in any way, Rhaella would see it done. Yet the doubt still lingered in her mind on that point. The woman claimed to have knowledge of curses, on how to lift them. She also said she could see the future. And Rhaella truly did believe that. Yet if it could be avoided she would prefer not knowing what her future held. Only fools sought to know tragedy beforehand.

“As do I, husband, as do I,” she agreed.

***

Daeron stood on his tiptoes, trying his hardest to catch a glimpse of the party of riders. “Mother, I cannot see a thing,” he complained.

“Patience,” Rhaella instructed softly. “They are nearly arrived.”

Jaehaerys held onto Aegon, fidgeting all the while, quite unable to sit still for a moment. “I can’t see either,” he said.

“Be silent all of you,” Aerys ended their talk for the moment. He shot them a warning glance. The boys quietened gradually.

The moment her eyes landed on Lyanna, the Queen’s heart was filled with relief. The riders had finally entered the yard, garbed in mail and dusty, looking worn out. It was no wonder, of course, yet Rhaella could not help but wonder at their appearance.

The White Bull staggered down from his horse and she could clearly see that he’d been wounded, though not incapacitated it would seem. He still had enough strength left to help Gaunt who seemed to have sustained a wound to the head. The other Kingsguards looked more or less apt to carry on another fight should there be need for it.

Then she turned her eyes to her son and Lyanna. Rhaegar had easily dismounted his steed and he was currently helping Lyanna down hers. Frankly, Rhaella was somewhat surprised that she would wish to ride after such a wearying journey. Yet Lyanna had always been full of such surprises if memory served.

Daeron was, as always, the first to react. He did not even wait to be allowed to leave his parent’s side before barrelling straight forward, towards his older brother and Lyanna. In a moment or so, the poor girl was wrapped in what looked to be a bone-crushing expression of undying affection. Aegon looked at Jaehaerys and before anyone could stop them they too were off.

Viserys hung back, somewhat shy of Lyanna given that when last they’d seen each other he’d been little more than a babe.

Rhaella started at the unfolding scene, equal parts taken aback and excited. Aerys put a hand on her shoulder. “I think out oldest son would appreciate a timely intervention.” Indeed, Rhaegar did look rather like he was about to send all three of his brothers walking. What was more, Lyanna seemed slightly overwhelmed at all the attention. “I know I would,” her husband added for good measure, taking Viserys’ hand from hers.

With a nod of her head, Rhaella walked forth. “Daeron, Aegon, Jaehaerys, what is it you think you are doing?” she called after them. “Let the girl breathe, will you?” How startled they looked at her chiding them. Rhaegar gave her a relieved look. Rhaella merely warned him to behave with a frown. She knew that sometimes the boys tried his patience, but still, they were his brothers. As such, he was to endure. And yet, he would not see Lyanna done in by an excess of brotherly affection.

They grudgingly released Lyanna and stepped away from the bewildered young woman. “Lyanna,” the Queen greeted, gently wrapping her arms around the trembling form, “how glad I am you are finally arrived.” She leaned down and kissed both her cheeks. “You are shaking like a leaf,” came the quiet note. “Those boys, you must forgive them, they were quite excited to have you back.”

“As I am to be back, I assure you, Your Majesty,” Lyanna answered, her own arms wrapping around Rhaella. “It was quite unexpected, is all. Though, I keep thinking I have missed someone.”

Rhaella could do little to stop the laughter that bubbled upon her lips. Instead she released Lyanna and took her hand. “Indeed, there is. I fear that you shan’t recognise him all that well for it has been some time since you have been in each other’s presence.”

Aerys was approaching with Viserys, speaking to his son. Rhaella could not catch the words but she was fairly sure she knew the gist of it. “Come, my dear child,” she beckoned her last born over, a gentle simple playing upon her lips. “Come meet Lady Lyanna who is soon to be your good-sister.” She looked back to Lyanna to see a blush touching her cheeks.

Viserys approached Lyanna cautiously, quite unable to keep his eyes off her face. Rhaella too had seen the slight discolouring of the skin, yet she had chosen not to comment upon it for the simple reason that it would not do to cause a scene in the middle of the courtyard. Her youngest son bowed to Lyanna. Rhaella pressed gently upon Lyanna’s shoulder and, much like an old habit, Lyanna dipped in a curtsey.

“Your Grace,” she spoke, “you may remember me not, yet I know you well.”

Her son took a moment to look at her. Rhaella gave him a nod and a smile. With that reassurance Viserys came even closer to Lyanna and when the young woman held a hand forward he did not hesitate to give her his. He beamed up at her.

“I am going to have a dragon,” was the first thing he said to her.

Understandably shocked, Lyanna parted her lips to reply and when the words supposedly started making sense to her, she clamped her lips shut, her whole frame exuding bafflement. “A dragon, Your Grace?” she questioned after the moment of stunned silence.

“Oh dear,” Rhaella found herself saying. At the look on her oldest son’s face she clarified the matter. “Your brothers have each asked for a pet, save for Daeron who declared himself quite pleased with Sixpence.”

“And you are getting a dragon, are you Viserys?” Rhaegar questioned his youngest brother who in the meantime had let go of Lyanna’s hand in order to cling to his father.

“How very happy you must be,” Lyanna promptly indulged the child. “And what sort of dragon are you getting?”

“A big one,” Viserys answered.

Rhaella shook her head and laughed. It seemed Lyanna, despite her absence, had not lost the ease with which she bonded with her family.

“Ah, but you are getting a baby dragon. Won’t it be a small one?” she teased gently.

Viserys, not understanding that Lyanna was jesting, leaned in closer to her. “He’ll grow.”

“Of course he will,” Rhaegar cut in.

Aerys gave Viserys back to her and he too bent to kiss Lyanna’s cheeks. Lyanna, responding with all the decorum she could muster, was having a difficult time keeping her tears at bay. That alarmed more than one male in the vicinity. But she laughed and assured them it was all well.

“I will never understand you women,” Aerys said to Rhaella as they were walking in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, reunion...and the younger Targs...and mayhem. Just like I promised.
> 
> Next up, wedding! Probably...maybe...I don't know, guys. I keep thinking I should make you wait longer.
> 
> Oh well, we'll see.


	31. xxxi. Lyanna VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Lyanna pulls an Anne of Bohemia on everyone...and then she gets married...

As a child, her bedchamber had been fairly close to the Queen’s, and even to Rhaegar’s, before he’d left for Dorne, that was. She had been considered a member of the family, albeit officially it was not so. Lyanna had been protected by both age and standing. At the sage of three and ten, no longer a child, but a maiden flowered, she could not longer share such close quarters, especially considering she had yet to enter the royal family.

To compensate she’d been given rooms in the Maidenvault, along with Cersei Lannister and Elia Martell, both of whom still resided at court. The first as the Lord Hand’s daughter, the second as companion to the Queen.

Upon her returns, they had both shown themselves overjoyed, one praising her for courage in the face of the brotherhood, the other lamenting her ill luck to have fallen in their hands in the first place. But Lyanna hardly wanted to be reminded of the incident.

“I beg of you, let us speak no more of it,” she asked at a long last.

“Of course, you must forgive us.” Elia replied. “It is not common to hear of such adventures. We did not mean to pry, did we, Lady Cersei?”

“Not at all,” Cersei said. “I imagine that soon enough we shall have other tales to hold out interest.” She laughed softly. “Come, Lady Lyanna, you will be a woman wedded soon and we, still maidens, will have much to learn about the wonders of marriage from you.”

They jested, of course. Lyanna laughed along with the, She much doubted she could teach them anything anyway. For no two marriages were the same, as Nan had wisely said. It all depended on the man and the woman entering the binding, the old woman had claimed. If they were both true, upstanding people, if they had compassion and understanding for one another, if they could find it in themselves to be kind, then any marriage could be fruitful. Lyanna had wondered why Nan had not simply named it love, for to her ears it sounded as such. To that her elder companion answered that love was too oft confused for something it was not.

Even the memory of it brought a smile to Lyanna’s lips. The wisdom of the old was an interesting thing to hear, by turn seeming simple or not. One had to forever expect the unexpected.

As for the wedding, Lyanna would not worry over that. Raven few day and night with messages and carts came filled with fruits, meats, vegetables and whatnot. The whole keep was abuzz with activity. Preparations were underfoot. Long in the making had been the union that would take place and Lyanna, for her part, could but wait, rather impatiently but wholly confident, for it to commence.

She was only displeased that she could not be closer to them. The Maidenvault was as comfortable a lodging place as any other, she supposed, but she would be gladder still to have her old rooms back. Although, Lyanna was not truly certain that she would. Rhaegar had said that they would not remain for long in King’s Landing after they were wedded. That she truly understood.

It had always fallen to the oldest Prince to take into his arms the responsibility of running the keep of Dragonstone. It was the seat of the heir apparent and given that Rhaegar could no longer put off that one duty, naturally their stay within the Capitol would not be a long one. Truth be told, Lyanna was excited for it.

“My lady, did you a words we said?” Elia called to her, touching her shoulder in a gentle manner. It seemed the way of most people to be handling her with even gentler touches since she’d come back.

“Forgive me,” Lyanna apologised, “I was distracted. If you would care to repeat what you have said.”

Again, Elia and Cersei laughed. “Nay, my lad, ‘tis best we do not,” the Lord Hand’s daughter intervened. “I hope, though, that one day I shall be as fortunate as you are.” The dream of any woman, Lyanna reckoned, to love and be loved. A nice dream indeed.

“I am certain you shall,” she offered, instinctively accompanying the words with a smile. “How fares your brother, Lady Cersei. Does he enjoy squiring as much as he did training in the yard with the boys of the keep?”

‘Aye, that he does,” Cersei replied, pride shining through her voice. “He is the very best, my lady. I reckon he’ll be knighted soon enough. Or so I hope. I miss him terribly.”

Lyanna patted her hand understandingly. “Then I hope he is knighted soon. And you, Your Grace, how is your family. Last I heard, Prince Oberyn was breaking hearts in the Riverlands.”

“Ah, he had moved on to the Stormlands,” Elia laughed at the jest. “We are all in good health, thank the Seven and that is what matters.”

Indeed, Lyanna continued to listen to the two of them speaking to her. It all felt so very familiar and comforting for that. She doubted she would have been so much at ease had they been missing from the picture. True enough, Cersei and Elia were not her friends, yet she had grown accustomed to them and fairly knew what to expect.

Her thought involuntarily returned to the wedding. She wondered if her father would make the journey, given that he had not been very eager to allow her to. If not, who was to walk to her husband? Mayhap he would send Brandon. Lyanna did not know how she ought to feel about that. Or perhaps Ned would do it. Yet it did not feel quite right. She sighed softly and tried to catch the subject Elia and Cersei were arguing about. At times they seemed to get along so well, only to disagree a moment later and destroy any such illusion. Lyanna shook her head in wonder at them.

“My lady,” Cersei said, “is it not true that Princess Daenerys was in love with Daemon Targaryen?”

“Aye, but she wed into House Martell and she was happy for it,” Elia insisted. “Pray pay attention, Lady Cersei, to the words you speak.”

“Your Grace, you are wrong,” Cersei replied without an ounce of patience. “Daenerys was not happy.”

“You are been listening to too many bards,” the Dornish Princess quipped mercilessly, “you know not of what you speak.”

***

Lyanna gathered a handful of skirt in her fist and strode forward, ignoring Cersei’s protests. “Lady Lyanna, truly, you must not.”

“Oh, but I must,” Lyanna disagreed, though not unkindly.

She had been brushing his hair in her bedchamber when an excited Cersei came to her with news of the members of the brotherhood. Some of them, she recalled, had managed to escape the King’s justice at first, but in the end they’d been caught, bound and brought forth for judgement. The King had a mind to dispense with the matter swiftly, before the wedding took place. After all, the crowds required bread and circuses besides and public executions were among their favourite shows.

That aside, it was rumoured that some peasants too had been brought before the King to pay for aiding the brotherhood. Far from being entirely sympathetic to their plight, Lyanna understood very well that the reason behind their actions had been no more and no less than an act of vengeance against their overlord who had imposed backbreaking takes upon them. In such conditions their response should have been expected.

Understanding that, Lyanna was willing to intervene on their behalf. She would, after all, soon enough be a Princess herself and matters of the realm would not simply pass her by if she had any say in it. Opportunities were scarce as it was, Presented with hers, Lyanna would not hesitate to take it.

“That would mean being in their presence once more,” Cersei pointed out. “Think well upon it.”

“I do not fear men who are bound and chained, Lady Cersei, and neither should you.” Of course there was a thrill of fear that travelled down her spine at the thought of being in the sight of such men again, yet if she allowed fear to stop her, it would mean allowing them to win. And she was not at all willing to do so.

“If you truly insist and I cannot stop you, then allow me to join you,” Cersei finally said. Lyanna, though she knew not why Cersei wished to accompany her, nodded her head. She thought it might have something to do with the King’s instructions, if not then it certainly had to do with Lord Lannister and his desire to know everything.

A truly intelligent man, Lyanna consider. And equally dangerous. Had he been a fool to be easily played, Lyanna would have felt much safer. But, given that she had schemes of her own to raise protective walls that not even he could tear down, Lyanna would not despair just yet. In the meantime, it would be best to cultivate Cersei’s friendship. At least until she found something that might aid her at least.

Her father’s daughter, Cersei Lannister was as haughty as her parent. But unlike Tywin, she was more cunning than intelligent. There was something about the way she spoke to Lyanna. Had she had her sight, she might have been dazzled, for she heard from Daeron that Cersei was skilled in mummery.

For better or worse, she would need to keep the Lannister maiden close. Lyanna had thought much upon it, yet she could not seem to find a solution. Cersei was not rightly bound to her, nor did she owe Lyanna any allegiance. That was the worst of it.

Having stopped to wait for Cersei to catch up, Lyanna allowed the other to take her arm, though she had already learned the path well enough. Together they made their way to the King’s hall, where the hearing was taking place.

“There are so very many people,” Cersei noted. “It is an absolute crush.”

Lyanna reckoned she was right. A hall full of people was both noisy and almost too warm for comfort. Clearly, most noblemen would be interested in finding out what the fate of the infamous brotherhood would be. Besides them, of course, even some peasant had come. Lyanna hoped that among them would be families of the peasant brought before the King. Otherwise her gesture would be more or less wasted.

The first thing that Lyanna heard was the King’s voice. He was instructing the Lord Hand upon what was to be done with the culprits. “For their crimes against the realm, there is no pardon. All of them shall meet their fate, as they deserve it,” he was saying.

Reading within it the opportunity for intervention, Lyanna made her way through the throng of people. Soon enough they parted on their own accord to make way for her. A murmur broke out and Lyanna could hear her name being said. She did not stop to listen however, knowing very well that her appearance would have elicited such a reaction anyway.

“Lady Stark,” the King said upon noticing her advance. “What is the meaning of this?”

Lyanna curtsied deeply towards him. “Your Majesty, I pray you will forgive my barging in without a summon,” she began. The whole hall hushed as if to better heard her. “If I may, I should like to speak as well.”

“There is no need for that, my lady,” Tywin Lannister said, “it is well known that you have suffered at the hands of these wretches. Be assured that they shall be punished accordingly.”

Lyanna resisted the urge to smile triumphantly at the man. “My Lord Hand, Your Majesty, I have not come before you to lay more blame at the feet of these poor men. Instead, I have come to ask Your Majesty to show lenience to those who deserve it.”

Behind her the crowd gasped, for a moment their bewilderment a palpable thing. Lyanna squared her shoulders. “I pray you would hear me, Your Majesty.”

“Ask me for mercy, Lady Stark?” the King repeated, understandably shocked. “They are common criminals.”

“Some of them might be,” Lyanna agreed with a small nod of her head. “Yet I beg mercy for those that are not. Among these men that have been brought before you, Your Majesty, some I simple people who have endured a cruel master’s care. They did not know how to better gain the attention of those who could aid them, thus, like errant children they have joined in league with miscreants and criminals.”

Once more, Lyanna allowed a moment of silence to create a lull in her speech. As the King offered no words, nor did the Lord Hand, she continued. “Clemency should be shown to those deserving, Your Majesty, for their heart is good even if their deed are not beyond reproach.”

“Lady Stark, you amaze me,” the King said. But in his voice she heard something which gave her the strength to insist.

For the sake of her future, the one she wanted to build, Lyanna stepped forward until her foot touched the first stair leading to the throne. She knew the Lord Hand usually stood five steps above. With a deep breath, she knelt before the ruler and allowed her head to drop slightly forward.

“I beg Your Majesty to consider my words and should it be best to do as I have suggested, I shall happily consider it a wedding gift.”

***

Excitement and anxiety mingled within in, causing her breath to come in short spurs. Lyanna could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She feared that she would faint, though she was not given to such behaviour. She placed a hand upon her stomach, pressing gently. The skin of her palm encountered the small beads that had been sewn onto the dress.

“If you keep pulling upon it you will tear the dress,” Brandon warned her. He seemed amused by her distress. Lyanna scowled at him. “Ah, do not make such a face. Your Prince still has time to run away if you scare him off his horrid faces.”

“Brandon Stark, be silent,” she groused unhappily. She had been up all night, tossing and turning in her bed, unable to close her eyes for more than a moment.

“Leave off, brother,” Ned cut in. “Can’t you see she is not well just now?” At least one brother seemed to understand her precarious position. Lyanna drew in a long breath. “Do not listen to him, Lyanna. He is just teasing you.”

“Odious creature,” Lyanna could not help but chide. “I am almost tempted to send for father.”

“Please do not,” Brandon said. “I have come all this way to be with you on this special day and you would send me back for a jest?” His incredulity elicited laughter from her. “There, that is better. I daresay this won’t drive your betrothed to run for Visenya’s Hill.”

She sighed. “Ned, how much longer until we reach Baelor’s Sept?” Her hands gripped tighter upon the horse’s reins. “I do not know that I can keep upon this beast any longer.”

“Patience, sister. I know you women are eager to be wedded as if this were the path to sanctification, but I assure you a few more moments of waiting shan’t make a difference.” Brandon’s words were rewarded with another sigh.

“You tire me,” Lyanna replied.

“Liar,” Brandon accused. “You’ll know well enough the meaning of the word later.”

“Stop teasing her,” Ned came to her rescue again. “Brandon, truly, what is it with you on this day?”

He had been affectionate and annoying beyond belief by turns. Lyanna was not sure what he meant by his behaviour, but she knew that if he did not end it soon, she would travel to the gallows for murder. At least Benjen had opted to wait in the Sept. She did not know what she would have done if she had had to deal with all three of them at the same time.

“I am filled with joy,” Brandon replied, tongue in cheek. “Can I not express it?”

“Enough of that,” Ned stopped him. “We are arrived.”

Lyanna breathed out in relief. She pulled on the reins of her horse, bringing the creature to a halt. Before long, Ned was helping her down and then Brandon placed her hand upon his arm. It felt so very strange and exhilarating.

“This is it, Lyanna,” Brandon was saying, “you shall no longer be a Stark soon.” His own hand came to rest upon hers, squeezing it gently.

“Oh Brandon, I will always be a Stark,” Lyanna assured him with light laughter. “I will simply be a Targaryen too besides.”

That said, Lyanna truly did not have anymore force within her, so she clamped her lips shut and gave a sharp nod of her head to indicate that she was prepared to proceed. Brandon, for once, seemed to understand exactly what she wished for. He spoke no more words of teasing, nor allowed her to remain still much longer.

Baelor’s Sept, Lyanna came to find, had many, many steps. Too many steps for a woman dressed in a heavy dress, that was at the same time very fragile. Lyanna truly feared that she would somehow step on it and land face first upon the ground.

Once she had climbed the last one of the steps, she thanked the old gods and the new alike that she’d made the journey safely. Upon entering the Sept, Lyanna once again felt her breath cut for some odd reason. She knew that it was the happiest day of her life, she was certain it was. So why did she feel ready to drop at the lightest gust of wind.

Brandon led her on gently, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “They are all looking at you, sister dearest.”

Annoyance welled up within her. “Brandon, if you cannot say anything to help calm my nerves, I suggest you do not speak.” Still, she managed to keep from stepping on his toe. Of course, no one would have suspected that she would do something like that intentionally. And for the most part she would not. But Brandon was special, so she would teat him exactly as he deserved.

But soon enough they came to a halt. Brandon let go of her arm and Lyanna reluctantly released him as well. She imagined he had left her standing face to face with Rhaegar. There was no going back. Lyanna found herself taking calming breaths, listening intently for the High Septon.

A hand touched hers quite suddenly. Lyanna barely managed not to jump out of her skin. Her fingers instinctively curled around Rhaegar’s hand and a smile, small and uncertain, bloomed upon her lips. The warmth of his skin suffused hers.

And then the ceremony truly began.

The High Septon droned on and on, Lyanna knew not what. She could barely hear the man. Alas, she forced herself to listen, even if her heart beat so loudly that she feared it might break through her ribcage.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them for eternity. And what had been thus bound together may no man bring asunder,” the man spoke. Something smooth fell upon their entwined hands. Lyanna continued to smile. “Look upon one another and before the gods pledge your troth.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior,” they started together, “Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, hear my vow.”

“I am hers and she is mine,” Rhaegar said.

“I am his and he is mine,” Lyanna’s words echoed his.

“From this day on until the end of all my days,” their voices entwined once more.

Time itself seemed to stand still for Lyanna when warm, smooth lips touched hers. Her heart exploded in her chest. A cheer went up, but she barely even hear it, so caught was she in the kiss.

And then it was over, leaving her dazed and weak in the knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there, you have your wedding, along with a reckless, but not entirely foolish Lyanna.
> 
> Thoughts?


	32. xxxii. Rhaegar VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides away*

Rhaegar brought the cup to his lips and drank from the wine. He watched Lyanna dance with her oldest brother. Brandon was telling her something which she found amusing, he could tell. What a change from the shy maiden he’d kissed in Baelor’s Sept. But the again, she’d been bold and shy by turns. For some reason, Rhaegar found it very endearing. His gaze continued to linger upon her, watching her glide about, both careful and graceful.

“You are her husband, Your Grace,” Arthur’s familiar voice distracted him. “You could just claim the rest of the dance.”

Turning to face his friend, Rhaegar shook his head. “Nay, she looks so very pleased to be dancing with her brother.” He knew that she had been taught how to dance. And Brandon Stark certainly looked like he knew his steps. It was among the last lengthy moments she would have with her brothers. “Besides, Arthur, I have a lifetime to twirl her to the music of bards.”

From the corner of his eye he caught the sight of a tall woman heading their way. Arthur beckoned her over and she curtsied to Rhaegar. “Your Grace, this is my sister, Ashara.”

The most shocking thing about her had to be her violet eyes. Of course, posed and graceful, Lady Ashara Dayne had to be among the most beautiful women of the realm. Rhaegar inclined his head towards her and she smiled, rather like she knew his thoughts. Strange creatures, women.

“Your Grace,” she said softly, “I must beg for my brother. He had promised me a turnabout the floor, yet he’s been avoiding me.”

“Dayne, what manner of rudeness is this?” Rhaegar rebuked his friend in jest.

Arthur merely laughed. “I see I must away, Your Grace, else I shall have no peace.” He offered his sister his arm and she took it without another comment, impatiently hurrying him along. much to Rhaegar’s amusement.

He glanced back towards Lyanna to see she had exchanged partners. Brandon Stark was dancing with a Tully if Rhaegar’s eyes were not deceiving him. Lysa Tully, he recalled the girl’s name to be. Lyanna had fallen, quite curiously, into the hands of Tywin Lannister. It was a wedding. People were supposed to make merry. Yet Rhaegar did not think he would ever forget the sight of Tywin Lannister dancing. It was quite uncommon. For a brief moment he had thought to cut in and take Lyanna away, yet his young wife did not look at all out of her element. She had kept a serene smile upon her face and continued on as she’d ever been.

It was a strange thing, Rhaegar considered. He had always known that one day he would wed her. And he had anticipated the moment, to be truthful, first with a child’s expectation of heroic destiny, then with a youth’s curiosity and finally with a man’s desire for partnership. Yet after having spoken the vows before the High Septon, he felt that there was something missing. Rhaegar shook his head and looked down at his wine. Perhaps it was the Arbor drink playing tricks upon his mind.

A hand touched his and Rhaegar found himself gazing in dark familiar eyes. “Your Grace, what has you so deep in thought upon such a joyous occasion?”

It occurred to him that perhaps Elia Martell expected some sort of regret from him for his decision. “Was I?” he questioned instead. “How thoughtless of me. Would you care for a dance?”

Elia accepted the invitation graciously. It was easier to speak in the sight of all, after all. Rhaegar looked down at her. She gave an odd wistful smile. “Your Grace, perhaps you can make me understand, for I confess I do not. Why her?”

Despite her delicacy and sometimes roundabout manner of tackling problems, it seemed that the Dornish Princess was not averse to bluntness from time to time. Rhaegar considered her question. He understood her meaning very well. Elia had perhaps hoped he would change his mind.

“There has long since been an understanding between Lyanna and I,” he offered somewhat evasively. “There was never a question about who I would wed, to the best of my knowledge.” Not for him, of course. Rhaegar supposed that the betrothal could have been announced at an earlier date. That would have affected his father’s machinations however.

“I see,” Elia said. “Was there truly not even one moment?”

Unexpected and weakening, that was what her question was. “I would not lie to you,” he said. There had never been a moment because even if Rhaegar could recognise her beauty and charm, she was not Lyanna and therefore of little interest in her capacity of a woman.

The music came to an end. Rhaegar pulled away from the Dornish Princess and sought out his own wife. Lyanna was only too happy to be dancing with him again. Rhaegar laughed softly and caught her hand with his.

“Have you not grown tired?” he asked as the strains of another song greeted his ears. Lyanna moved ever so slightly to the rhythm, swaying gently in anticipation.

“I am only a bride this once,” Lyanna replied, “and I shall not grow tired for the rest of the night.” Would he that she forever remain thus, smiling and happy, without a care. “Ned was just saying that Brandon had disappeared somewhere,” she added thoughtfully after a moment. “Have you not seen him?”

“Last I saw him, he was dancing with Lysa Tully,” Rhaegar disclosed. He had not paid very much mind to Brandon Stark. He had been occupied with more pleasant pursuits than that.

“Ah, Tully. He is to wed the older sister.” Rhaegar knew that. Indeed, Brandon Stark would wed Catelyn Tully whenever Lord Stark saw fit to decide upon a date. Unfortunately for them, Lady Catelyn had not been able to make the journey, having to remain in her father’s keep due to a chill.

In good time, of course, all would take care of itself. Lyanna, having abandoned the subject of potential good-sisters, had moved on to asking questions about one matter or another, inquisitive as always. Rhaegar indulged her more to keep busy. He could see that some of the guests were red-faced and grinning to one another in a manner that spoke of conspiracy.  

And there was ever only one conspiracy that could be planned at a wedding.

***

As it often happened at weddings, the roaring drunk men pushed for the bedding to commence and the women picked up their chant. Louder and louder it grew. Rhaegar looked at Lyanna to see a rosy blush painting her cheeks.

The minstrels picked up the melody of the Queen _Took_ _Off_ Her Sandal, _the_ _King_ _Took_ _Off_ _His_ Crown and beside the bard a few more voices joined in. Rhaegar was pulled away from Lyanna as the queen of the song was renouncing her sandal and the king was taking off his crow. On the song went, hands pushed and pulled, jestingly inspecting.

Unmarried females had been long since sent away long since, long before the queen started readying herself for her husband’s bed. Laughter and ribald joked rang through the air. One of the braver ladies tugged at his robes and Rhaegar allowed her to pull it off. The women tittered and giggled. They were enjoying it.

The custom was an ancient one. It had endured since the invasion of the Andals. Unlike other customs this one did not bring offence. Rather it proved an opportunity for the bride to gain admirers.

They bore him to the door of the bedchamber with much laughter and cheer. Rhaegar pulled himself away from their hands and entered the darkened chamber with a cautious step. Though he’d thought of the wedding, as it was quite inevitable, he’d not given much thought to the bedding. That had been some far off event which he’d decided against considering too closely.

It seemed the men had made much speedier work, for when he entered, closing the door behind him, Lyanna was standing next to the bed, hands feeling along the wall. She looked up, rather from habit than need, unseeing eyes making no pretence of searching.

“It seems I have kept you waiting,” Rhaegar offered, suddenly unsure whether he should step further in. He turned around and bolted the door against intrusion. His action had the added advantage of momentarily releasing him from the enchantment. He heard rustling and creaking.

When he turned around Lyanna had sat down upon the edge of the bed, hands in her lap, waiting. Of course she would expect him to initiate contact. Rhaegar shook his head at the uncertainty that churned within him.

He stepped towards her slowly. “Have I upset you?” he asked. She had not spoken one word, though she’d had the time to do so.

Lyanna shook her head, but did not give him any words. Rhaegar sat down next to her. Apparently he was not the only one unsettled. His young bride leaned against him tentatively, her small frame pressing into him lightly. A faint flowery scent emanated from the Lysene curls her hair had been twisted in. Time for words was past anyway.

Rhaegar leaned in and touched his lips to hers softly, timidly even. Lyanna’s hands settled against his shoulders, fingers curling and pressing, as if to hold him to her. His own hands travelled down her form, reaching for her middle and pulling on the girdle. It came apart with ease and found its way to the ground with even more ease. The kiss deepened. Rhaegar hoisted Lyanna’s legs up and over his, pulling off the doeskin slippers on her feet and throwing them away without a care.

Desire was not a stranger. But as he kissed a path down her neck, smooth skin beneath his lips and fragrant hair falling in his face Rhaegar could swear that what he was feeling was similar, but quite different all at once. Small fingers twisted in his hair and Lyanna made a small sound in the back of her throat. A wolf through and through, Rhaegar found himself thinking.

More at ease, Lyanna abandoned her position and pulled away from him, fingers coming to the ribbons that held her overdress together. Not wanting to startle her, Rhaegar allowed her to do as she would. And Lyanna was not long in untying the garment.

It fell apart to reveal the stark white chemise beneath. Rhaegar pushed the overdress down her shoulders and she pushed it away from her with a mildly impatient gesture. There was no smile upon her lips but the colour of desire burned upon her skin. She drew herself fully upon the bed, felling her way with her hands, curiosity clear in the way she moved. Rhaegar gazed away from her momentarily, working on divesting himself of his own clothing. They were becoming more cumbersome by the minute.

Again, the sound of rustling reached his eras. A small smile made it way to his face as he stood up to proceed. Once done he turned around and his eyes fell upon the unclothed young woman arranging her hair upon one shoulder, the strands dragging across white skin.

She was not doing it on purpose, he realised. She might have been a woman, but she hadn’t been one for very long. What she did, she did upon instinct. Lyanna leaned her head to the side invitingly. And he could not refuse her

Rhaegar returned to her side, pushing her back against the pillows gently. Lyanna yielded, a spark of something playing upon her face. He slanted his lips against hers and then moved downwards, leading a trail of kisses to the gentle swell of one breast. Her breath hitched, loud against the quietness. She shuddered as other kiss met her flesh and this time a small moan sprang past her lips.

Once more her fingers came to tangle in his hair, pressing his head down, holding his lips to her breast. Only too pleased to oblige, Rhaegar nipped on the skin gently. A small shriek rang through the air when tongue met skin. Rhaegar chuckled at her reaction, equal parts proud and delighted.

One hand glided down to her hip. When it reached its destination, as if a message had assed between them, Lyanna parted her legs gently. Rhaegar lowered himself into position and felt her body tense ever so slightly. He tried soothing her, but Lyanna merely pushed against him, grabbing onto his shoulders.

Praying that whatever pain he caused it would be fleeting, he began to enter the narrow passage, gritting his teeth at the resistance, he looked at Lyanna’s face for signs of pain. She had closed her eyes, as if to ward off the ache, and allowed her head to fall to the pillows. Dark hair spilled all about her. He advanced. She jumped slightly beneath him, a hiss bubbling on her lips.

And then he stopped. Lyanna had half-risen from the bed, all her muscles tensing, the grip becoming almost painful. Rhaegar sealed his lips with hers and gave a strong push forward, swallowing the whimper of pain she emitted.

She fell back against the pillows, breathing hard and trembling like a leaf in a storm. He could feel the small shivers against him. He bent down to kiss her again and she responded weakly. “I am so very sorry,” he whispered against her mouth.

“I am not,” his bride answered.

***

The first rays of the morning sun shyly approached the wedding bed, gliding over naked bodies and tangled sheets. The sound of footsteps from outside disturbed Rhaegar enough to rouse him from slumber. He smothered a small groan and realised with some mystification that one of his arms had gone quite numb. He tried moving it only to register a small weight holding it down.

Rhaegar opened his eyes and came face to face with a sleeping Lyanna. Unable to help himself he smiled at her relaxed face and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She stirred lightly and murmured something incoherent before pressing closer to him.

Tenderness seeped into his every pore as he watched her. Rhaegar brushed away a strand of dark hair, pushing it behind her ear. He traced a path along the scattered beauty marks. He’d barely noticed them the previous night. He bent his head over the exposed skin and pressed a kiss there. His wife made a short sound that had no meaning and one of her legs slid against his.

He froze. Looking up at her, Rhaegar became aware that she too was slowly but surely waking up. Her lashes fluttered several times before her eyes were fully open. Disoriented, she seemed to flounder for a few moments. Her face pulled in an expression of uncertainty. But then a tentative smile appeared on her face.

“Husband,” she called out gently, apparently testing the word upon her lips. “Has the sun risen?”

“So is has, wife,” he replied in kind.

Lyanna frowned. “I was hoping it hadn’t. Look again, perhaps your eyes deceive you and ‘tis the light of the moon you see.” Her attempt was met with a humorous laugh from him.

“Mayhap you are right. ‘Tis the light of the moon,” Rhaegar agreed.

“Good,” she continued, “for I do not want it to end.” One hand worked its way up his arm and caught his shoulder. She guided him down for a kiss, her other hand coming to wrap around his neck. Rhaegar deepened the connection and was about to do more when a light hiss stopped him.

Lyanna flushed and stammered out an apology, as if it was any fault of hers. “Pay it no mind,” she urged him, trying to settle herself against him.

He suspected it had to do with the instructions maidens were given before marriage. The gods knew some people thought they knew what everyone else wanted. “Do not push yourself, Lyanna,” he replied gently, pressing his lips against her temple. They had all the time in the world.

“I am not,” she insisted even after he had left her arms. Stubborn to a fault, she was. Lyanna sat up, straight of back, and gathered the covers around her

“You may not be,” Rhaegar allowed after a few moments of pregnant silence, “but I remind you, wife, that you have thoroughly exhausted me. And I could certainly do with some rest.”

Her mouth fell open, her face burned scarlet. It was quite apparent that she was at a loss. His objective achieved, Rhaegar handed her the clothing which had been left for them to change into. She would not be exactly pleased when she finally understood that he’d not quite meant the words. Which Rhaegar had not doubt that she would. It all depended on when.

Given that he was no longer a stranger even to the most intimate matters of her body, Rhaegar no longer bothered turning around. Lyanna pursed her lips and pulled on her chemise with light, sure movements, efficient to the very last. Her cascade of lustrous tresses fell down her back, slight tangled and unkempt. The curls had lost their bounce, hair reverting back to its usual form. She went on to tie the laces of her overdress, fingers working diligently.

As he watched her, Rhaegar admitted to himself that he would like nothing more but to remain with her in the room for another few nights or so. Yet he knew they could not. It was just as well, or, he thought, they would never actually begin their journey to Dragonstone. Lyanna threw her legs over the edge of the bed, confusion blooming on her face.

“Where did I put those slippers?” she wondered out loud.

Locating them was fairly easy. Rhaegar retrieved the pair from where they had landed, unceremoniously, one near a stool and one under it. He knelt by the bedside and caught one of her feet, hand gliding up to her slender ankle. He put the first slipper on and them repeated the process with the other.

If asked, he would never be able to tell how his wife knew certain things, but she did. Taking him quite by surprise, Lyanna carefully caught his face in her hands and dove in for a kiss. She half met her mark, pressing soft lips to the corner of his mouth. Not daunted, his wife simply move her head a little so she might feel his mouth beneath hers.

Heart beating loudly, Rhaegar allowed her the victory, ceding gracefully. Warmth exploded in his chest. Lyanna pulled away after a few moments. “Is there any chance you might have located the comb as well?”

He laughed. It felt so very natural, the transition. Standing up to his feet, Rhaegar make his way to a small table where he’d seen what she had asked for. He brought it back to her but when his wife reached out to take it from him, Rhaegar refused with a few soft words. He sat back down and started combing through the tangled tresses himself.

His wife leaned her had back slightly and sighed contently, apparently approving. Silky stands brushed against his fingers. Rhaegar wondered if Lyanna could tell that he was smiling.

After he was done, their preparations to face the day were deemed complete. Rhaegar helped her up, enjoying any excuse to touch her, be it twining his fingers with her or combing her hair. For some unknown reason he had the urge to look back at the room. And when he did, his eyes fell upon the bed with its rumpled sheets.

There, upon pristine white, a spot of crimson red strained the sheets. Instinctively, he turned his gaze to Lyanna who was unbolting the door.

They were well and truly wedded, he considered, opening the door for her. He followed her out into the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I am so embarrassed...
> 
> Well, I hope this wasn't a complete disaster and that you enjoyed it.
> 
> Also, as I'll be going back to Uni again, my updates will not be so frequent, but I'll try to post a chapter a week or so.
> 
> All the best! :)


	33. xxxiii. Elia II|Rickard II|Ned VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one...:)

Ashara twined the stems together, fingers moving diligently at work. She had been listening to every words Elia had said, but far from adopting a simpering attitude or offering the faintest trace of sympathy, the other Dornish lady barely nodded.

Elia watched her work, unknowing if she should continue or allow matters to rest. It was all so very strange and disheartening. “Ashara, won’t you say something?”

“What do you wish me to say, Your Grace?” the other questioned, looking away from her flowers momentarily. “Is it comfort you need? Assurance that success is heading your way? Or simply that you might be wrong in your estimations? What do you want me to say?

Comfort was not what she needed, Elia thought not without a hint of exasperation. Women were supposed to understand one another. So why was it that Ashara was being so stubbornly oblivious about the whole matter? Comfort was the last thing on her mind and the very last she would accept in all events. It simply did not sit well with her that such pretence should be varnished over a woman who clearly knew what was being asked, yet refused to reply in a befitting manner.

Assurance would have perhaps made her feel better, for no tongue longed for the taste of defeat and no heart embraced loss lightly. It made for a picture which Elia would have rather done without. Alas the fates were cruel, toying with her. Was it the province of gods to think their creations mere dolls to be twisted and turned as it pleased them and then put away? For surely that was unfair a thing to all involved, but most to the human-dolls who had no choice but to obey the pull of the string and dance along without complaint.

As for her estimations, they had already been proven wrong. “I think you are too harsh on me? Can I help it if I am who I am? And I must do what I must?”

“So must we all,” Ashara countered, her voice light and sweet, devoid of artifice. “I do not deny that, Your Grace. I was merely asking what words I should speak.”

“If they are not spoken from the heart then I wish not hear then,” the Princess said. “It is best you say not one word, if you truly believe me to be wrong.”

“The matters of the heart are seldom right, or wrong in themselves,” was the wisely offered response. “We have choice, Your Grace, for the gods gave it to us, as the Seven Pointed Stark will tell you. Even the old gods allow the believers to do as they please. There is but one thing to keep in mind; that all action finds its countering action. Failure and success are consequences of one’s skill, behaviour and conjecture.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Elia found herself asking. They were wise words indeed, but most people who spoke wisely had a tendency to act unwisely. “Or is it simply something you have culled together out of your reading of the words of the Seven.”

“Doubt me to your heart’s content, Your Grace, if it please you,” her companion answered. Elia glanced at the small crown of flowers, admiring the play of colours. It was truly a very beautiful thing. “But I speak as I think.”

“A dangerous thing to do,” she warned. “Your words may always be used against you.”

“They might one day be. And if I deserve the chastisement, I hope to receive it with proper grace.” Ashara lifted the small crown from her lap and deposited it on the stone bench. She then removed her shawl and wrapped in it the flower circlet. The bundle found its way to her feet. “My sister will be pleased with the gift,” she mussed out loud.

Elia grimaced. “And yet you have not answered to me, Lady Dayne,” she reminded the other with ease. Leaning back against the tree which grew behind the bench, Elia fiddled with the golden strings of her girdle. She had not expected Ashara to be so much changed.

In the days of her girlhood, Ashara Dayne had spent a few moon turns in Sunspear. There, she and Elia had been playmates and had got on well enough, though, to be fair, she’d had better companions. And yet the image of Ashara she had kept with her all those years contrasted with the woman who stood before her. Perhaps she had been wrong with every assumption. It was plausible that she did not know Ashara as well as she might think.

After all, she had been friends with a girl and before her stood a woman. A woman who she reckoned was no longer swayed by grandeur and pretty dresses. Indeed, the strange Ashara Dayne seemed almost as literary minded as Rhaegar Targaryen had once been. Elia did not know if she should smile or cry at the coincidence. The gods knew she had no fondness in her for those words written I dark ink. They only served to confuse and bring sadness where there was none.

“I shall answer, I shall,” Ashara promised, “but allow me a few moments to gather my thoughts. ‘Tis a difficult matter the one you have posed to me and I wish not err, for the sake of us both, Your Grace.” And so, Ashara was allowed more time.

The Dornish Princess felt rather like Ashara was avoiding answering, rather than gathering her thoughts, yet Ashara had proven more stubborn than a mule. So Elia decided against rushing her. In her own time, she would give a reply. “Not too long though, Lady Ashara , else you will forget even the question itself.”

Ashara made a small sound in the back of her throat, her pretty face becoming taut in concentration. “It seems to me that new speak of a rather uncomplicated situation, yet still very much a thorny thing to see the light of day. But I say this to you, Your Grace, why chase the fox when the hound lies waiting at your feet?”

Surprised, Elia looked at her in confusion. “The fox is hunted, therefore the fox is a prize to be won. Catching the fox implies skill. Skill brings prestige. Prestige brings power. And so on, so forth, Lady Dayne, but you already know this.”

“And I see that you do to. Now speak to me of the hound, for you’ve not mentioned the hound,” Ashara urged, a small smile playing upon her lips. Elia had the vague feeling her companion wished to deliver more than an answer.

“The hound is a domestic creature that is both faithful and common. As common as the stones on the road. But the beast is good, mind you. It has its uses.” Elia watched Ashara’s face for any signs of disagreement. None were shown. “The hound is no prize, however.”

“Then, Your Grace, you have understood nothing of my meaning. It is you who judges the hound too harshly and places the fox on too lofty a place.” Ashara stood to her feet. “I pray that one day you understand my meaning, Elia Martell, for I speak with a friend’s concern and with a woman’s wisdom.”

***

The branches of the weirwood swayed back and forth, dark red leaves rustling softly. Rickard sat underneath the heavy branches, looking over the snow covered meadow. He sighed softly to himself and touched a hand to one of the bone-white bark. Lyarra had loved the tree, he recalled fondly. She would come everyday and pray when she was heavy with Brandon.

They had been so happy, he thought not without an all too familiar ache worming its way through his chest. She, young, beautiful and healthy, he, strong and proud and so in love with her. Had she asked him for the world, he would not have hesitated to conquer it for her, Perhaps that was what had angered the gods. That very love which he thought of with such pangs of loss. Had he loved her less, would she have lived longer?

Perhaps it would not have mattered at all. After all, the heart was a strange thing, incomprehensible even to the wisest. And it caused trouble wherever it was involved. Loss would have been so much easier had he been merely fond of her. It would have been bearable. It wouldn’t choke him whenever he woke in the night and though, even after so many years, and searched for her through the unyielding darkness, sleep befuddled mind thinking her yet alive and breathing.

Alas, she was not. Lyarra Stark, the girl he had grown up with and eventually grew to love was no longer. And she had left him behind, alone, to face an existence without her. “If you could but bring her back to me,” he whispered to the tree. “I would do anything just to see her one more time.”

A gust of wind blew swiftly by, a sharp sound forming in Rickard’s ear. He looked up at the crown of blood coloured leaves. “It was unfair to take her from me when I loved her so.” The leaves swung back and forth. “She was supposed to see her sons grown men and her daughter wedded. Lyarra would have wanted that.” And so would have he.

In the wake of his daughter’s departure, something had happened. Rickard would never truly be able to explain it, but inside of him, a feeling had woken. And that feeling was only exacerbated when a missive arrived from King’s Landing speaking of bandits and his daughter’s capture. The King had wanted coin. Rickard had sent as much as he could yield. Yet even as he had taken those decisions, he knew not why. Lyanna Stark was his daughter, but she had never truly been dear to him.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree trunk. Sleep overcame him with ease. Never having been a light sleeper, Rickard was not surprised when he fell into some sort of blackness, where aware as he was of his own body, he knew naught else.

Something brushed against him and he turned to where he suspected the culprit was. He could easily recognise the feel of a hand on his shoulder. But the darkness prevented him from seeing. “Who is there?” he demanded. “Show yourself, whoever you are, and do not think that the black veils will protect you.”

No sound came in reply. Left hanging, the Lord of Winterfell raised his hand forward and blindly cut through the darkness, trying to come in contact with something, anything that would confirm his suspicions. All he met was nothingness. Frustration ripped a growl from the back of his throat. “Come out, whoever you are.” His order rang out and echoed through the emptiness, yet no one came forth.

Rickard lowered himself down to a sitting position. He knew himself to be in the world of dreams. Yet never had he been as aware that he was dreaming as he was in that moment. Aware or not, however, he could do little but wait for whatever was to happen.

It took some time and much of his patience, but in the end, the hand came back again and settled on his shoulder. The second time around, the press was firmer and so warm, he could swear his skin burned even through his clothing.    

An explosion of light blinded him. Like staring into the sun, Rickard felt his eyes burn with pain. He shut them as quickly as he could, but even behind his lids he was attacked by the same light. Covering his face with his hand, the man tried to drive the sting away and soothe his sight with blissful darkness.

Laughter reached his ears. It was a familiar voice the one that rang out. Startled, he allowed his hands to fall from his face and opened his eyes as to better convince himself of his impression. Before him stood none other than the woman he had asked the gods for.

Lyarra Stark looked down to him with strange red tinted eyes and a smile upon her lips. Her hair, long and wild, fell about her like a curtain and covered even the dark black of her dress. Rickard drew himself to him feet and stared at her mutely. He wanted to do something, say anything, but his limbs would not cooperate that far and his mouth would not open.

“You must but listen,” his departed wife spoke, “’Tis all I ask of you, that you listen as you have listened before.”

“It was you?” he questioned at a long last after he had regained the use of his lips. “The one who pushed me to aid her was you, was it not?” She nodded her head, understanding perfectly well his meaning despite the lack of clarity. “Why?”

“Because she has suffered greatly before. I asked the gods to allow her a second chance.” She took one of his hands in hers, her thumb rubbing against his skin gently. “And for that I traded my life and her sight.”  

And then it started making sense. In his mind, Rickard felt pain and heat. He heard mad laughter, cruel and shrill. A shudder ran through him. “I am a mother,” she continued. “And I want the happiness of my child. Last I left the task to you, you forgot to ask Lyanna. So I have made sure that she no longer needed asking.”

“It was you all along,” he breathed out.

“Aye, it was me all along,” Lyarra agreed. “And it is time that you too taken upon your shoulders the task which I have set out to complete.”

He nodded his head, quite unable to say another word. Good gods, he never would have thought it possible. Yet he’d been shown wrong once more and all he could do was bow to a wisdom superior to his.

“I have no promises of happiness, but I have hope,” Lyarra went on. “I have hope that you shall understand my sacrifice and treat it accordingly.”

Rickard gazed at her still somewhat bewildered. “If that is your will. But tell me what to do and I shall do it.”

“Care for her and take care of her. Help her as I know you can. Be kind to her.” The instructions made him frown. “Love her.”

“’Tis too late,” he said.

“’Tis never too late,” his spouse disagreed.      

***

Ned continued to look at Ashara Dayne. Her presence unsettled him. His heart was beating too wildly in his chest and his tongue would not cooperate. He felt a fool and did not like it one bit. Especially considering that Lady Ashara was the sister of Arthur.

“I have heard you were captive alongside my brother,” she said, curiosity colouring her voice. In truth, Ned was not certain he had ever met a woman as enchanting as her. Lady Ashara was beautiful and graceful, but it went beyond that. Her outer aspect, Ned was certain, was a mirror of her inner world – a world which he suspected was much like paradise.

“Indeed, I was,” he replied curtly, biting his tongue to keep from saying too much. “The Kingswood brotherhood were not exactly hospitable.”

She smiled at his attempt to make light of the issue and Ned felt warmth suffuse him. “I think you were very brave,” she said, placing a hand upon his shoulder, “and I am very glad my brother had someone like you at his side. Her Grace must be very proud, I reckon.”

Ned took a moment to figure out who she spoke of. He was still somewhat confused when Lyanna was referred to as Her Grace. But then again she was no longer simply Lady Stark, but the wife of the crown Prince. It seemed like only yesterday he had arrived in King’s Landing eager to know the stranger he had always referred to as his sister. How time had passed.

“I truly hope she is,” he answered somewhat shyly. “You too, my lady, must be very proud of your brother. I vow there has never been a better knight. I would not be surprised if the King requested his presence in the Kingsguard.”

Ashara laughed lightly. “I fear that is an honour my brother would be fain to refuse. Perhaps for the crown Prince he would, but Arthur is stubborn in his way. Perhaps the King shall request your presence, Eddard Stark, for you are skilled and brave and you have proven your worth.”

“I should fear that he would fare no better with me then,” Ned found himself laughing. He had not spoken to anyone about his strange dream, about his mother and what she had said, yet the words he’d taken to heart. It was Lyanna he had to protect, not the King. The old gods had entrusted him with the mission are more than just his life and hers were apparently at stake.

“Then you too shall depart for Dragonstone?” his partner asked. “To think that I knew nothing. How sly my brother is.”

“You mean that my lady as well shall come?” Ned asked, surprise on his face. “How comes that?”

“Ah, Her Grace asked me how I would like being a companion to her,” Ashara responded brightly. “A Princess can never truly be alone.”

“I thought Lady Lannister would continue her tenure,” he offered, somewhat confused. Lyanna had not mentioned any of it to him. But that was, perhaps, because she was more concerned with her wifely duties at present than with much of anything else.

“Lady Cersei is to remain here with her father,” Ashara informed him. “I am certain you have heard the rumours that have been circulating about.”

There was not anybody who hadn’t heard the rumours, Ned was certain. It was being whispered that the King planned to wed Cersei Lannister with one of his younger sons. A heated debate had begun on which one exactly Aerys meant to give in the power of his Lord Hand. Some claimed that it would be his youngest, others thought it might be the next to oldest. However, since no official comment had been made on the matter all they truly had was gossip.

Which was just as well, Ned thought, considering that the King’s sons were, at their age, not overly fond of the idea of matrimony. Any mayhap there was not truth to it. It could be that Tywin Lannister was trying to force the King’s hand. It was rather well known that the Lord of Casterly Rock wished for his daughter to forge an alliance with the ruling house.

“Those are mere words,” Ned chose to reply at a long last. “It is best that we wait and see what comes of it, my lady. Do you not think so?”

“Without doubt you are right,” she said. “Still, it is never a bad thing to be prepared, I say, and as I shall be your sister’s very own companion, it will be my duty to be her eyes and ears. This game, Eddard Stark, has just begun.”

“The game of thrones,” he whispered to no one in particular. A dangerous game, by all accounts, the game of thrones was not for those faint of heart. “Kingdoms have fallen over such games before.”

“And many more shall. But it is the way of out world.” Ashara Dayne’s mien became melancholy for a brief moment. “Were that it was different. Yet ‘tis not and we must play if we are to survive, or we should retreat out of the realm’s life if we do not wish to use of wits in that way.”

A wise woman. Ned watched her silently for a few moments. “And what have you to gain from this game, my lady?” he asked in the end.

“A great many things,” Ashara shrugged. “Not the least of which is the respect of others. Have you never wondered why it is that we all strive towards goal that put us in positions of power? Very few choose mediocrity. They fall into it, true, but not by choice.”

That feat was achieved, as Ashara had said, by many. “It is their reliance on slyness that dictates their position. Those truly powerful may ever use it when necessary and always censored by intelligence. The foolish will use it all the time and for any reason.”

“I see you have knowledge on the rules of the game.” The young woman’s face returned to its previous state. She offered him a wide smile. “Then, my lord, what say you we play it together. At least for the time being.”

And then he understood very well her meaning. She was, of course, concerned with the connections of her house. “I say to you why not, my lady?”

“Splendid,” Ashara spoke. It would not do to be too direct, and she hadn’t been. Yet she had not been entirely vague either. Ned was intrigued and very much willing to accommodate her proposal for some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you become too sad, I just want to tell you that I have simply decided to split the story into more than one part, so as to make it easier for me to work with. So, don't panic, you'll still get the other twists and turns I promised.
> 
> Also, this split came about with you, my readers, in mind as well. Up until now, it was pretty clear who the "heroes" were and who "opposed" them. But from here on, things will change. So I'm giving those of you who know they don't like negative portrayals of certain characters the chance to call this the end.
> 
> If however, you choose to read on, consider yourselves warned. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. :)


End file.
